


Disarray

by RaeSedona



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, POV Multiple, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-24 13:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6155425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeSedona/pseuds/RaeSedona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When England discovers that a dangerous union of parallel nations have grown tired of their desecrated world and now seek to destroy another, he does his best to hold them back. When his efforts aren't enough and the insane counterparts of countries they all know and love flood into their universe, hell breaks loose and what seems to be the end of the world begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

 

> “Bollocks!” England cursed as he slammed the spellbook in front of him closed. He ran a hand through his filthy hair in frustration and took a deep, shaky breath before reaching for another book. He was exhausted and all he wanted to do was lie down and rest, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t slept in a week, and he hadn’t eaten, drank, or showered in even longer; how could he when the fate of Earth rested solely upon his shoulders?
> 
> It had all started about a month ago….
> 
> England had always known that their universe wasn’t the only one that existed, but until recently, none of them had ever attempted to enter theirs or make contact. He had learned a lot about the parallel universe in the past few weeks; more than he ever wanted to know. Like his, their universe had personified countries, but they were different, and not in a good way. In addition to their appearances being quite dissimilar to the nations England knew, their personalities were almost exactly opposite from what he’d seen of them so far...and they all were insane. He had spoken with his counterpart, Oliver Kirkland, several times in the past month, and each time, he became more and more anxious to find a way to keep him out of their world. Everything about him was unnerving, from the way he spoke to the all-too-cheerful glint in his eyes. He wasn’t mentally stable, and his intentions were anything but good.
> 
> As for their world, it had gone to hell. Luciano Vargas, North Italy’s counterpart, had started a war a few decades back in their history that ended in the death of more than half of the world’s population and caused the dissipation of dozens of nations. The ones that remained either seized the desecrated land left behind by dead countries, or fell victim to the Union of Vitality. The Union of Vitality was a forced alliance of the strongest put in action by Luciano. In this union, the parallel nations of Germany, Japan, England, France, America, Canada, Russia, and China had all been joined together by Italy, who was the ruler of their world, and had no choice but to do as he commanded.
> 
> None of this ever would have become a problem for England, or anyone else in his universe, if one simple thing had never happened; Luciano getting bored. He had grown tired of his own world, having already destroyed everything he wanted to break and tortured or killed anyone he felt like hurting. Having exhausted nearly every form of entertainment he deemed worthy in his own world, he sought to find amusement in theirs. What he intended to do, England didn’t know, and he was working as hard as he could in the hopes that he never had to find out.
> 
> Oliver had been trying to get into their world for over a month now, and his attempts had become twice as strong as they had been. He was attacking the barrier between their universes with a strength England had not anticipated, and the increase in his efforts had forced him to take drastic measures. Due to not knowing when the attacks would come, he had no choice but to continuously cast a protection spell on his side of the barrier, which would prevent Oliver’s spells from breaking it down. Or so he hoped.
> 
> Thankfully, the spell didn’t use up too much magic energy, but due to having to constantly have it in effect, he wasn’t able to sleep. England had evaded the problem of having to rest by casting another spell which enabled him to go for as long as he wished without needing to sleep, which would be ideal if not for its side effect. When he stopped casting it, he would fall into a coma that he couldn’t wake from until he’d caught up on, or rather, paid for, all the hours he had borrowed while awake. He didn’t have to waste time eating or preparing food either; he couldn’t die from not eating or drinking, and though it wasn’t in the slightest a comfortable experience, it was bearable. With the problems of having to sleep and eat eliminated, he had spent every second of his time pouring over his agglomeration of spellbooks, desperately trying to find an incantation that would permanently keep their world safe from the parallel nations.
> 
> After almost eight days of constant searching, all England had was abdominal pains from not eating and a panic in his chest that increased with each hour he didn’t find what he was seeking. He knew that he couldn’t keep going on like this for much longer, both because he would lose his mind and that sooner or later, someone would wonder where he went and come looking for him. He had been even more distant than usual in the past month, had shut off his phone two weeks ago in addition to ignoring all other attempts at contact, and had missed yesterday’s world meeting.
> 
> England was rather surprised and a little hurt that France hadn’t come by to see what the matter was, as it seemed the wanker could hardly go a day without finding at least one way to drive him mad and frequently dropped by his house just to piss him off. And that was one of the many reasons why he hated France, because even though he angered Arthur in a way nothing or no one could, he still cared about the bastard.
> 
> As his eyes scanned the pages of a spellbook, England thought of the man who had always simultaneously been his friend and enemy and felt his heart twinge a bit. Why hadn’t he come to check up on him? Sure, they claimed to hate one another almost daily, but everyone knew that was only a lie. Despite how often they fought and hurt one another, they were best friends...or so England had assumed. Perhaps he was the only one who thought that. Perhaps he had been tricked by his loneliness into believing that France cared about him, when in reality, he truly did hate him.
> 
> He had been careless and let his mind wander, and due to that and his poor physical state, he hadn’t noticed that he was being watched until the reflection spoke.
> 
> “Hello, there, my darling Arthur!”
> 
> England immediately stood, reflexively grabbing the dagger he was keeping near him for the time being, and looked at the mirror the voice had come from. As he thought, it was the same face he had seen there every other time this had happened, a face that was his own, yet completely foreign. Instead of his usual hue of blond hair, it was a slightly pink strawberry blond color and far more unkempt than his own. His eyes were different, too; light blue instead of rich green. He had the same face as England, even the same eyebrows, but it most certainly was not him.
> 
> “Oliver.” He hissed, glaring at the reflection in the mirror.
> 
> “Tsk, tsk, that’s no way to speak to your bestie, now is it?” Oliver chided, sounding quite a bit like a mother scolding her child.
> 
> “I’m not your sodding ‘bestie’.” He snapped.
> 
> Oliver’s eyes, the eyes that England hated looking at because they should be green, widened in shock and he gasped softly. “Artie, love, please don’t use such vulgar words.”
> 
> “I’ll say whatever the bloody hell I want.” He said, sitting back down at his desk to continue his search.
> 
> Oliver sighed and tsked. “We’ll have to work on that mouth of yours, poppet.”
> 
> “‘We’ don’t have to do anything. Now, bugger off so I can find a way never to see your face again.”
> 
> “Oh, but that’s impossible.” He answered with a soft chuckle. “Even if you somehow find a way to keep us out of your world, which you won’t, you’ll see my face every time you look in the mirror because we are one and the same, love.”
> 
> England, enraged by his words, stood and faced the large mirror reflecting the face of his counterpart. “We are not one at the same, we haven’t been and we never will be. You’re a monster. A murderer.”
> 
> Oliver didn’t seem affected in the slightest; he merely smiled sweetly. “And you’re not?”
> 
> The words stung quite a bit more than England thought they would’ve and caused him to falter. He knew that he was a murderer, he knew it better than anyone alive, and being reminded so suddenly caught him off guard.
> 
> “You’re just as much of a monster as I am, love. You know that, too, don’t you?” Oliver asked, his voice soft and gentle, as if he was singing a lullaby. “That’s why you haven’t found a spell to keep us away yet. You want us to come. You want us to punish you for everything you’ve done because you know you deserve it. You want to die.”
> 
> “Shut up!” England bellowed, lurching forward and shattering the mirror with his fist, making Oliver’s face disappear.
> 
> “That’s not true,” he murmured at nothing. “I’m-I’m not a monster.”
> 
> After a few moments of ragged breathing, England stood upright and hissed in pain when the broken shards of glass in his hand shifted and his body registered what had happened. Wincing, he plucked the mirror fragments out of his flesh and tossed them to the floor with the others before clenching and unclenching his fist to ensure that he had gotten them all out.
> 
> He took a deep, shuddering breath before turning back to his desk. Arthur sat and turned his gaze to the spellbook he had been searching when a cold, stabbing spike of fear pierced through his entire body. On the pages he had left it open on, a message was written in bold, disjointed lettering.

**_I_ ’M _G_ ET _TI_ NG CL _O_ SE _R_.**  
**S _E_ E Y _OU_ SO _O_ N, PO _P_ PE _T_.**  
**_WI_ T _H_ _L_ O _V_ E,**  
**_O_ LIV _E_ R KI _RK_ LA _N_ D**

> England’s heart began throbbing in his chest and he felt like he was going to be sick, because if Oliver had been able to do this, it proved true what he had just written. He was getting closer to breaking through the barrier between their worlds. And there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop him.


	2. Chapter Two

Even with the added motivation he had after seeing Oliver’s note, England’s daily efforts proved vain yet again. After reaching the last page of yet another spellbook empty of the incantation he needed, he calmly closed the book. Instead of slamming it shut and pushing it off his desk to make room for another, he grabbed it and in his overwhelmed state of stress, frustration, and utter exhaustion, threw it against the wall, not caring if the old, rather rare book was damaged in the process.

He plopped back into his chair, not knowing how much longer he could continue like this. He was losing more and more energy with each passing hour, and the once large pile of spellbooks was growing smaller. If he didn’t find an adequate spell soon...he didn’t want to think about what would happen then.

Just as England was about to force himself to stand and get another book, his doorbell rang and what color remained in his pale face disappeared immediately. He didn’t have time to entertain a guest or explain to them why he had been so sparse as of late, nor would he be able to concentrate properly when they continued to ring the bell and knock. Quickly deciding that it was his only option, he stood and made his way to the door as quickly as his exhausted body would allow, preparing himself to yell at whoever was there to go away before he returned to his work.

England threw the door open, scowling as harshly as he could and glaring at the person standing in front of him. It took his eyes a few seconds to register who it was, and when they did, he cursed under his breath. It was France. The nation at his doorstep merely stared at him, his blue eyes wide in shock.

“England?” He murmured. “You look terrible….”

“Then don’t look at me.” He snapped, moving to close the door.

France’s hand stopped the door before he could close it. His eyes were full of a concern England had never seen in him in such magnitude before.

“Leave me alone, you sodding prat.” He growled, trying to close the door anyway. His efforts were in vain, as he was rather weak and France wasn’t letting go.

“No. Something is wrong with you and-”

Before he could finish speaking, England left. He didn’t have time to listen to him worry, as much as he wanted to give in to it and let France help him. He had to find a spell to keep Oliver and the rest of the counterparts out of their world; even if a strong enough one didn’t exist, he needed to keep trying.

“What’s going on?” France asked worriedly as he followed him. “You weren’t at yesterday’s meeting and haven’t answered your phone in two weeks. And  _ merde _ , your house is  _ never _ this dirty.”

England ignored him and half walked, half stumbled into his study. He almost tripped over one of the many spellbooks he had tossed onto the floor, but managed to regain his balance. He finally made it to his chair, where he sat and then clutched his head as it suddenly spun.

“Angleterre,” France said, frowning as he walked over to him. “Tell me what’s wrong. I am not going to simply leave because you ignore me, not when you’re like this.”

“Piss off, France.” He hissed, grabbing the nearest unsearched spellbook and opening it, despite his vision being blurred and him being terribly dizzy.

France pulled the book out of England’s trembling hands and touched his shoulder. “Arthur, please tell me what’s happened.”  
For a moment, England considered going off and releasing his negative, pent up emotions as nastily as he could at him, but such a thing required more strength than he could muster right now, so he opted to explain the situation instead.

“There’s a parallel universe full of psychotic counterparts of us nations who want to come to our world and destroy it for their own amusement. I’m trying to find a way to stop them.”

France blinked and waited a moment, expecting it to be a joke, but soon realized that there was no way England could feign such sincerity, nor would he go through the effort to pull an intricate a prank as this. That left two options. Either what he said was the truth, or he had lost his mind and genuinely believed that it was. England grabbed an old page with bold, messy lettering scribbled across it and shoved it at him.

“My counterpart, Oliver, left that for me last time we spoke.”

France looked at the page for a moment before setting it aside to gently place a hand on England’s shoulder.

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but you must rest. You look like you have not slept in-”

“You don’t bloody understand.” He said, swatting France’s hand off his shoulder and running his fingers through his dirty blond hair in frustration. “I  _ can’t _ rest. If I do, I won’t be able to keep casting the protection spell. Besides Romania and Norway, I’m the only nation who can use magic, and they aren’t strong enough to-”

“Arthur, please, listen to me. You need to rest, you can’t treat yourself like thi-”

“No, Francis, you listen to me!” He said, staring desperately at him, his reddened, sunken in eyes wide with terror and anguish. “Everyone is going to die if I don’t do something to stop them. Now leave me.”

England reached for a large spellbook on his desk, but before he so much as touched it, pain shot through him as though he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. He screamed in agony and reflexively curled in around himself, his thoughts repeating the same thing over and over, even despite the pain surging through him.

_ ‘I failed’. _

France gasped in shock at England’s sudden scream, then gasped again when he saw what state he was in.

“Arthur!” He cried, leaning over his huddled, writhing form in worry. “Arthur, what’s wrong?”  
Before he could continue to question the unresponsive Brit, the power went out and the room blinked into pitch black darkness. England’s groans of pain suddenly silenced, and he fell from the chair onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“Angleterre!” France exclaimed as he fumbled blindly to find him. His hand brushed against the other’s leg, and he hurriedly moved to touch England’s neck. He lightly pressed his fingers just under his jawline, desperately hoping that his heart was still beating. When he felt the steady rhythm of England’s heart, he sighed and shuddered in his relief.

France’s solace was short lived, as no sooner had he reached out to try to rouse the unconscious nation, the lights came back on and revealed four figures standing where nothing had resided only moments earlier. A cold panic gripped his chest as he stared wide eyed at them, a horrific realization dawning upon him.

The four men shared stunning similarities with England, Japan, Germany, and Italy, but only at first glance. As he stared at them, France saw that in no way were these the nations he knew. England, for starters, didn’t have freckles or pinkish, strawberry blond hair, unlike the one that stood just a few yards away. Neither did he have baby blue eyes, nor would he ever wear tan pants and a pink button up shirt paired with a purple vest and a big turquoise bow tie.

Japan didn’t have red eyes, and he never allowed himself to look as bored and irritated as this one did. He didn’t wear a black, overly formal Japanese military uniform, and most disturbing of all, he didn’t carry a katana across his back.

Germany’s eyes weren’t purple, nor did he have a jagged scar across his left cheek or three dragging down his right forearm. Instead of the green uniform Germany always wore, this one wore a vertically striped white tanktop with a khaki jacket hanging over his shoulders along with a brown hat, pants, and boots. There was a cigarette between his lips and he looked disgusted to be there.

Whereas the three of them frightened France, it was Italy that caused him to shudder in fear. Instead of the friendly, happy-go-lucky aura that surrounded the little Italian he knew and doted on, the atmosphere around this one was authoritative and intimidating. His eyes were wide open and a unnerving shade of magenta and his skin was rather tan. He was clad in a brown uniform almost identical to the blue one Italy wore, the only difference being the color and a dark brown strap across his chest. He also wore a dark brown hat, drawing attention to his hair, which was darker and redder than it should’ve been. He glanced around the room with his unnaturally colored eyes, his lips curling upward in a smug smirk, and France ducked down to avoid being seen.

“Well, Oliver, it seems you’ve broken through the barrier your counterpart put up. Arthur, is his name?” A voice strikingly similar to Italy’s asked.

“Yep, Arthur!” Oliver answered cheerfully. “And of course I did, Luci! Did you think I couldn’t?”

He sounded so similar to England, France had to look at the unconscious figure next to him to be sure that it wasn’t actually him.

There was a low growl and the sound of a blade being drawn.

“What have I told you about calling me that?” Italy’s voice hissed.

Oliver sighed, sounding disappointed. “You’re no fun. Fine, fine, I’ll call you Lord Luciano if you  _ really  _ want me to. And there’s no need to wave a knife in my face, love.”

Germany’s voice huffed in annoyance. “How much longer are we going waste time? We came here for a purpose, not to sit around in some-”

“We’re standing, actually.” Oliver chimed.

“I’m going to break your gottverdammten neck.”

“Lutz, don’t start arguing with Oliver again. It’s annoying.” Luciano sighed impatiently. “I don’t want to have to cut out your tongue; you beg for mercy so beautifully, it’d truly be a shame. And Oliver, shut up before I make you. God,” he scoffed. “I wish you were more like Kuro.”  
“You couldn’t make me shut up, even if you wanted to.” Oliver giggled a little.

“Shut the fuck up!” Japan’s voice, likely the one Luciano referred to as ‘Kuro’, shouted in exasperation. “You are so damn annoying! Lord Luciano, I’m so sick of having to work with this shit brained idiot. When are we going to capture Arthur and get the fuck out of here? Where the hell is the bastard, anyway?”

“Hmm. Probably passed out somewhere!” Oliver said, sounding far too excited than one should while saying such a thing. “Once we find him, I’ll take care of him.”

France gasped and unconsciously grabbed England’s hand, as if doing so would keep the unconscious nation safe. He pressed a kiss to the back of the Englishman’s hand before reluctantly letting go. He took a deep breath, engulfed his fear in the desire to keep England safe, and did something he later deemed to be simultaneously one of the most stupid and brave things he’d ever done.

“You’re not going to lay a single finger on Arthur.” He growled, standing and facing the four nations standing mere yards away.

Lutz and Kuro looked at him in surprise, whereas Oliver waved and grinned, and Luciano smirked darkly.

“You must be this universe’s personification of France.” Luciano said, taking a step closer as he drew a knife from a hidden sheath in his clothing. “I expected you to look less like a little bitch, honestly. What do you think, boys?”

Kuro snorted bitterly. “Bet your ass he shits doilies.”

“I think he’s as cute as a cupcake!” Oliver chirped, staring at him with wide, unnaturally vibrant eyes.

“He’s just as ugly as Francois, that’s for sure.” Lutz grumbled irritatedly.

France tensed up as Luciano’s knife pressed ever so gently to his throat, paying no heed to the insults and strange compliment.

“Leave Arthur alone.” He hissed, forcing himself to remain somewhat calm.

Luciano grinned wider. “You think I’m going to listen to you and not do as I please with him?” He rolled his eyes and condescendingly patted France’s cheek with his free hand. “How disgustingly naive.”

France swallowed back his terror and felt his body start to tremble. “I swear on my life, I won’t let you-”

Before he could finish, Luciano rolled his eyes again and interrupted him by barking orders at the three nations behind him.

“Lutz, grab Arthur. He’s on the floor over here. Oliver, make sure he stays asleep until I say otherwise. He’s more powerful than the others, and I don’t want to deal with him just yet. Kuro, find an adequate form of transportation.”

They did as they were told, and as Lutz slung England’s limp body over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing, Oliver walked up to France and kissed his cheek, acting as if he didn’t even see the knife at the Frenchman’s throat.

“Can I please keep him, Lord Luciano?” He begged as he gazed dreamily, and far too closely, at France’s face.

“You have your own France back in our world.” Luciano said, looking rather annoyed. “Just knock him out and leave him here. We need him to tell the others.”

“Pleeease?” Oliver asked again, as if elongating the word would increase the likelihood of getting what he wanted. “Just to tide me over until Francois comes?”

“I said no.” He answered firmly as he withdrew the knife from the nation’s neck. “Just do as I said.”  
Oliver pouted and sighed sadly, looking as if he was a child who had just been told he couldn’t have a cookie before dinner.

“Sorry, pretty.” He said before lifting his hand in front of France’s face and snapping his fingers.

France had just opened his mouth to protest when an overwhelming wave of exhaustion swept over him. Hysteria seized his mind as he saw England being carried away by Lutz, and the chilling realization that he couldn’t do anything to stop them from taking him threatened to tear him apart. He struggled to keep his eyes open and reached out, vainly hoping to save his best friend. What little effort he could exert quickly faded, his consciousness following soon after.


	3. Chapter Three

“Don’t fucking lie to me, you tomato sucking bastard. I know you have at least one.” Romano hissed, glaring at Spain.

“I swear, I don’t.”

Romano snorted humorlessly. “Prove it, then.”  
“I can’t do that, then you’d have the advantage because you’d know what I have.” Spain said, his lips curling upward in amusement.

“You’ve won the past five fucking times!”

“I guess I’m just lucky!”

“More like a goddamn cheater.” Romano huffed.

“I’m not cheating, I promise.” Spain assured him, smiling. “Go fish.”

The cantankerous Italian muttered curses under his breath and drew another card before adding it to his ever growing hand of cards, all the while regretting ever having agreed to play Go Fish with his, though he would never admit it, best friend. They were betting tomatoes, damn good ones, too, and it annoyed him greatly to see that the other had more than he did. He knew Spain would share them with him in the end; it was the fact that he was losing such a simple game that bothered him so much.

“Do you have any-” Spain was interrupted by the front door opening as a severely disheveled and panicked France rushed inside.

“Antonio!” He exclaimed, sounding rather desperate, before rapidly speaking in French.

Spain stood, a little puzzled by his friend’s sudden, loud entrance, stood and walked over to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down a little first, Francis. You know I don’t speak French.” He said gently. “What’s wrong? Did Gilbert pull another prank on you?”

“Who cares if he’s got his fucking curls in a knot? Let Goldilocks deal with his own damn problems. We’re busy.” Romano said crossly as he folded his arms, quite annoyed to have been interrupted so rudely, and by France, nonetheless.

Spain, either politely ignoring or not having heard Romano, led the nearly hyperventilating nation to the couch and sat down with him.

“Now, what’s wrong, amigo?”

“They took him.” France said, his blue eyes wide with panic. “They took Arthur.”

“Halle-fucking-lujah. Now leave.” Romano grumbled, rolling his eyes. “We aren’t in the mood for French bastards whining about how their little bitch got lost.”

France put his elbows on his knees and lowered his head into his palms, making no effort to reply or defend his pride. After a long moment, he looked up at Spain, his cheeks streaked with tears.

“Antonio, Arthur’s gone. I don’t know what happened, but nations that looked like Japan, England, Germany, and Italy took him, and I think they’re planning something terrible and-”

“Woah woah, woah, what the fuck does my fratellino have to do with this?” Romano interrupted, his brow furrowed.

“A nation that looked like him took Arthur and-”

“Bullshit!” Romano interrupted him again. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you spew this crap!”

“Lovino, calm down.” Spain said a little distractedly. He put a hand on France’s shoulder, looking a little concerned. “Do you have any proof? It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just a little unusual of a story….”

France nodded and with a shaking hand, reached into his pocket and took out the folded up page that Oliver had written on. He unfolded it and handed it to Spain, shivering as he caught a glimpse of the disturbingly disjointed font. The Spaniard took it and read it before glancing worriedly at Romano and handing it to him. He read it, and then rolled his hazel eyes to hide his unease.

“How do we know this is real? Anyone could’ve written this fuckery.”

“Does it look like I’m lying?!” France snapped, his expression distraught as he ran a hand through his mussed golden locks. “They’ve taken Arthur and are going to hurt him if we don’t do something! We have to tell the others; we have to help him!”

“Francis,” Spain said calmly, “why don’t you go upstairs and rest for a bit? Lovino and I will discuss things and see if we can call for an emergency meeting, all right? Lovi, could you make us all some tea?”

Romano grumbled loudly, but did as he was asked, whereas France shook his head quickly in refusal.

“I can’t. I can’t relax when Arthur could be-”

“Hey, hey, calm down a little, eh, amigo?” Spain said, kneeling on the floor to take France’s shoes off. “Take deep breathes, sì?”

He did as instructed, and Spain smiled a little at him as he set his shoes by the front door before returning to the couch to sit next to him. The two sat in silence until Romano returned with the tea, and despite the obvious annoyance at having France in Spain’s house, didn’t complain as he handed him a cup.

The Frenchman numbly took it and drank most of it in one go, a look of mournfulness settling on his face as he realized it was Earl Grey, England’s favorite. He set the teacup down and stood, his legs wobbling a little.

“I need to go save him.” He murmured.

Spain furrowed his brow a bit and stood as well. “Francis, you’re in no shape to go out looking for whoever took him right now. You have to rest.”

“I can’t, I have to-”

Before France could finish speaking, his eyelids drooped and his knees buckled. Spain caught him as he passed out and quickly laid him on the couch in a panc.

“Francis!” He called anxiously as he shook his friend’s shoulder.

“Calm your tits.” Romano sighed. “He isn’t dead, I just drugged him.”

“What? Why?” Spain asked, sounding considerably less alarmed than he had a moment ago.

“Why do you think? He was annoying the fuck out of me and there’s no other way to get him to shut up.” He huffed, glaring at the unconscious nation, ignoring the flicker of sympathy he felt toward him.

“At least he’s resting now.” Spain sighed and covered France with a blanket before standing upright.

“Yeah, whatever.” Romano rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to call my boss to see if it’s possible to organize a meeting soon.” He said, taking his phone out of his pocket.

Romano groaned. “You actually believe him?”

“I don’t know.” Spain shrugged, tapping his boss’s contact and putting the phone to his ear as it began to ring. “Either way, this is something we should talk about.”

“What, that France is acting like an idiot? I know you’re stupid, Antonio, but he’s been doing that since he was fucking born.”

Spain furrowed his brow, not really listening to Romano, being more concerned with hearing the answering machine instead of his boss’s voice. He hung up and called again, his brow furrowing when no one answered.

“What’s wrong?” Romano asked, masking his worry with annoyance.

“No one’s picking up.”

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to reply when his own phone rang. Romano took of out of his pocket and groaned when he saw that it was his brother.

“What the hell do you want?” He asked crossly as he answered it.

“Lovi, something really bad is happening!” Italy’s panicked voice said quickly. “All the humans have fallen asleep and they won’t wake up and-”

“Feliciano, you know I can’t understand you when you’re being like this. Calm the fuck down and talk normally or I’m going to hang up on you.”

Italy took a deep breath and spoke a little slower than before. “All the humans are asleep! It’s happening here and in Germany and Japan, too!”

“What?”

“Go check outside of it’s happening there, too!” He said, sounding too realistically terrified for it to be a joke.

Romano, ignoring Spain’s confused inquiries, walked to the front door and opened it. Outside, a woman and her dog were passed out on the sidewalk, and a few houses down, a man who had been getting into his car was unconscious as well. He looked around and found that from what he could see, it was the same with every other human.

“What the shit?” He said aloud.

“I don’t know and I’m really scared!” Italy replied. “Germany’s coming to get me and he should be here soon, and then we’re going to come to Spain for you and Antonio, but-”

“Feli,” Romano interrupted rather sternly. “Stop panicking, damn it. Everything’s going to be fine, so stop your crying.”

“But-”

“Feli!” He said a little louder than before. “Just fucking breathe, okay?”

“O-okay.” Italy said, taking a few deep breaths.

“Now, keep doing that until that bastard arrives. Have you talked to Seborga?”

“N-no. He won’t answer his phone.”

“Whatever, he does that all the time; he should be fine. I have to go explain shit to Antonio, so don’t freak out on your own.”

“Okay. C-Ciao, Lovi.”

“Ciao.”

With that, Romano sighed heavily and took one last look at the unconscious woman on the sidewalk before heading inside, wondering how the hell he was going to explain to Spain something even he, himself, didn’t understand.

* * *

 

While waiting for Germany and Italy to arrive, Spain and Romano tried to figure out what was happening. They explored the slumbering world outside and discovered that not only were all the people asleep, but the animals were as well. The people that had been driving cars appeared to have pulled over to the sides of the roads and shut off their vehicles before passing out, which both of them had found rather strange. At least the roads wouldn’t be blocked if they needed to go anywhere. Traveling didn’t take as much time for nations as it did for humans, but driving was a lot quicker than walking.

“What do you think happened to everyone that was flying…?” Spain asked as he glanced up at sky. He looked worried and scared, and Romano had to look away lest he felt too compelled to hug him.

“They’re fine.” He said gruffly.

Spain nodded, but he didn’t reply. He was consumed with concern for his people and for all the other nations’ people, so much that he zoned out a little and didn’t say anything for a minute or so. Romano, uncomfortable with his sudden silence, brought up a new subject.

“What the fuck are you going to do with the ass licking pervert when he wakes up?”

Spain blinked, ran a hand through his hair, and sighed as he looked back at the house.

“I don’t know. Maybe Feliciano can comfort him a little? He’s good at that sort of thing.”

Romano scowled at that. No matter where he was or who he was with, he couldn’t seem to escape the reminder that his brother was a natural at things he was terrible at.

“Whatever.” He said, turning around and walking back to the house. “I need a fucking drink.”

Not long after the two of them returned inside, Germany and Italy, or rather Italy with Germany in tow, burst through the front door. Romano had downed almost half the bottle of wine and Spain had just taken it and put it out of his reach so he wouldn’t get drunk, hence Romano being in the middle of yelling at him when he was nearly tackled to the floor with a hug.

“Lovino!” Italy cried as he embraced him tightly.

“What the f- Feliciano, get the hell off me!” Romano said angrily. He had just barely grabbed the countertop in time to balance himself and keep them both from falling, and his heart was throbbing with adrenaline.

Italy let go of him, only to then fuss over him.

“Are you okay, fratello? You look a little red!” He said quickly as he placed the back of his hand on his brother’s forehead to check his temperature. “Oh no, I hope you aren’t sick! It’s already bad that all the humans have fallen asleep, but you being sick only makes things worse and-”

“I’m fine!” Romano interrupted with a scowl, swatting his hand away. “Calm the hell down before I drug you, too.”

“Wait, ‘too’?” Germany asked, confused.

“He drugged Francis.” Spain said, rather conveniently, as Romano merely glared at him rather than answering his question.

“What?” Italy blinked in puzzlement. “Why?”

“Because he’s an annoying piece of shit.” Romano huffed.

“He came here about two hours ago in a panic. He said that nations that looked like you, Feliciano, Japan, and England took England and are planning something bad.” Spain said, still rather clueless as to what that was supposed to mean.

“That doesn’t make any sense….” Germany said, furrowing his brow in thought as he tried to decipher his words.

“Maybe we should ask him.” Spain suggested.

“Ask who what?” A hoarse and groggy voice asked.

The four of them turned and saw France standing in the entrance to the kitchen, looking exhausted and heartbroken.

“Francis!” Italy exclaimed as he hurried over to him.

“Oh, joy.” Romano groaned, having thought he would asleep longer. “I should’ve put something stronger in that tea.”

Germany pulled out a chair for France as Italy helped him walk over to the table and sit down. Spain said something about making coffee and started to do just that as Germany, Italy, and Romano sat at the table, the latter taking the seat furthest away from France.

“What happened?” Italy asked gently, his amber eyes open for once, as he looked at France in worry.

“England is gone.” He said.

Italy glanced at Germany, concerned, even though he and the Englishman weren’t really friends.

“Spain said something about nations that looked like me, Italy, Japan, and England, himself, took him.” Germany said to France, his words sounding more like a question than a statement.

“Yes.”

“Explain, if you will.”

France took a deep breath and nodded, collecting himself before he began to speak.

“They didn’t look identical to you four. For example, Italy, the one that looked like you had different clothes, darker hair, and maroon eyes. He…. I think he’s their leader.”

Romano blinked.

“Wait, what the fuck?”

“The one that looked like England, Oliver, said something about someone else coming from their world, so I don’t think it’s just the four of them.” France continued, ignoring Romano’s question. “They’re dangerous, and we need to do something before more of them come. We need to rescue Arthur before they….”

“Is there any proof besides England’s absence?” Germany asked.

“There’s a note in the living room.” He said, moving to stand to get it.

“No, no, you stay there.” Spain said quickly, walking into the other room to get it himself. He returned a moment later and handed it to Germany.

He took it and read it before folding it back up and setting it on the table.

“Do you think England has any information about these...other nations somewhere in his house?” Germany asked, his expression grim.

“Knowing him, he likely does.” France said.

Germany took a deep breath and nodded.

“Then let’s go.”


	4. Chapter Four

“What? Go to that bastard’s house? Oh, fuck no!” Romano said, furrowing his brow and crossing his arms as if his words and tone weren’t enough to convey his annoyance.

“Then stay.” Germany said as he stood. “Who wants to come with me?”

“I do.” Italy said immediately. He stood as well and grasped Germany’s hand, neither of them commenting on how badly the little brunet was shaking as he did so.

“I’ll come, too.” France said, rising to his feet. “I know his house well.”

“Well, you bitches have fun. Antonio and I are staying right here.” Romano huffed.

Germany nodded and looked at Spain. “While we’re gone, call Japan and help him organize tomorrow’s emergency world meeting. He can’t notify everyone to gather in Europe as he travels here himself, so your and Romano’s help will be useful.”

“You shit eating bastard! Don’t go volunteering me for things I didn’t fucking agree to help with!” Romano seethed, his face turning a little red in his anger.

“Lovi, please don’t yell at Germany.” Italy said quietly.

“If you don’t like it, get him the hell out of Spain’s house, damn it!” Romano’s cheeks burned redder and he stood to pour himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

“He’s right, we should get going.” France said, though he sounded as if he didn’t care.

Germany grunted in agreement and walked to the door with Italy, still holding hands with him. “We’ll be back before too long.”

Spain nodded and gave France a quick, sympathetic hug before the blond followed Germany and Italy outside and shut the door.

* * *

“It looks scary….” Italy said, looking fearfully at England’s house as he stepped closer to Germany and clutched his hand a little tighter.

“It looks no different from usual, Italy.” Germany sighed, gently pulling him along as he walked up the porch steps.

“Wh-what if they came b-back?” He asked, swallowing nervously.

“There’s no reason for them to.” France answered, stepping around the two of them and walking inside. “They already got what they wanted here.”

“Where do you think England would’ve put anything he might’ve written about these other countries?” Germany asked, following the Frenchman.

“His study, most likely. If not, the basement.” He replied.

“He has a basement?” Italy asked, sticking close to Germany.

France nodded and walked into England’s study, hesitating a moment before looking around and taking a deep breath.

“You two, check the bookshelves. I’ll check his desk.”

“What exactly should we keep an eye out for?” Germany asked, letting go of Italy’s hand and striding over to one of the massive bookshelves.

“Likely something that resembles a journal.” France said, starting to search the desk drawers.

“There are so many….” Italy said, sighing as he glanced up at the rows of books before he began to look.

The three of them didn’t search for long, as a few minutes later, France discovered exactly what they had came there hoping to find. He called Italy and Germany over and the three of them began to read what England had written about the strange nations.

_Oliver appeared in the mirror again today. This is the fourth time that’s happened in the past two years, which can’t be a good thing. His more frequent visits are starting to concern me. He’s planning something, and I don’t trust him. Hell, I don’t trust any of them. They’re...unsettling, to say the least._

_It appears Luciano (Italy Veneziano’s counterpart), is the dictator of their world. He’s the head of an alliance called The Union of Vitality, which consists of the following nations: Germany, Japan, China, Russia, America, England, and France. The less strong nations in their world are under control of the Union, either by choice or by force, and though some of them hate being controlled, remain loyal. It seems they’re all afraid of defying Luciano for fear of his wrath. Except for Oliver, that is. He doesn’t seem the least bit worried or intimidated by him._

_In addition to telling me of their world, Oliver told their names. Below is a list of the ones I know so far._

_Luciano Vargas (Northern Italy)_

_Lutz (Germany)_

_Kuro Honda (Japan)_

_Oliver Kirkland (England)_

_Allen Jones (America)_

_Francois Bonnefoy (France)_

_Viktor Braginski (Russia)_

_Zao Wang (China)_

_Matt Williams (Canada)_

_Flavio Vargas (Southern Italy)_

_Santiago Carriedo (Spain)_

_Magnus Køhler (Denmark)_

_Egil Steilsson (Iceland)_

_Felix Oxenstierna (Sweden)_

_Loki Bondevik (Norway)_

_Eero Väinämöinen (Finland)_

_Their names (and appearances) aren’t the only things that differ from me and the others. Their personalities are either opposite to ours or have a few similar traits to us and other completely different ones. Most of them, from what I’ve seen and heard, aren’t in their right mind and quite violent._

With a shaking hand, France turned the page, where a smaller and obviously more hurriedly written entry was scribbled.

_They’re coming. I don’t know how Oliver can possibly break through the barrier separating our worlds, but I know he isn’t bluffing. They’re coming here and they’re going to kill us all._

“Is there anything else written in here?” Germany asked, taking the journal and flipping through the rest of the pages. A moment later, he closed it and sighed. “There’s nothing.”

Italy let out a sob and the two of them turned to see tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I-I’m s-scared.” He said. “I don’t want to-to d-die.”

France frowned and hugged him.

“Don’t cry, Feliciano. You aren’t going to die, I promise. Everything’s going to be okay.” He said calmingly.

“But-”

“No ‘but’s.” Germany stated firmly. “I’m not going to let you get hurt, so don’t be scared.”

Italy hiccuped and nodded.

“Wh-what are we going to do?”

France sighed and broke away from the embrace to glance at the journal and run a hand through his rather tangled hair.

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll figure that out at the meeting. For now, we should get back to Spain.” Germany said, sighing. “France, is there anything more we could gain by looking around more?”

“Non, I don’t think so. There are mysterious magical items in the basement, but I haven’t any trust in them, nor would I advise toying around with them to see if they are of any use.”

“Magic?” Italy asked, sounding rather wonderstruck. “You mean Arthur isn’t crazy?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, but oui, magic exists. I’m not entirely sure about those silly friends of his, but he most certainly can wield magic.”

The little Italian’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

“Ludwig, did you hear that? Magic is real!”

“Ja, ja, I heard it.” Germany sighed. “If every human in the world weren’t miraculously asleep right now, I don’t think I ever would have believed that.”

Italy gasped and turned to look at Germany, his expression full of worry.

“How are Japan and America and the others that live across oceans going to get to Europe?”

“Most of us know how to fly planes, remember? You know how to fly one, too, Italy.” Germany sighed again, trying to be patient, as he knew Italy tended not to think much when he was stressed. “The ones that can’t will simply get a ride with one who can.”

Italy relaxed a bit. “Oh.”

“They’ll all get here somehow, don’t worry.” France said.

Germany reminded them again that they should be leaving, and so the three of them returned to the car to drive to the boat and made their way back to Spain.

* * *

“What?!” Germany and Romano exclaimed at the same time in very similar tones of voice.

“Countries have fallen asleep, too?” France asked, his eyes wide.

“Mostly the smaller and lesser known ones, but yes, they have.” Spain said, looking quite distressed. “It appears to be the same thing that’s wrong with the humans and-”

“Who gives a shit about that? Romano interrupted, looking quite shocked. “The damned ‘other countries’ are real?!”

“All we know about them is in here.” France said, extending the journal England had written in toward him. Romano frowned and took it.

The room was silent for a long moment as he read it, and no one said anything until Romano, with a look of disgust, scoffed.

“The fuck kind of name is ‘Flavio’?”

“That’s all you have to say?” France asked, looking rather exasperated. “You have just read proof that these ‘other nations’ exist, and all you comment on is your counterpart’s name?”

“How the hell is this proof?” He rolled his eyes and dropped the journal onto the table. “There is absolutely nothing in here to say that this isn’t just another one of that crazy bastard’s weird ideas.”

“So the entirety of the world and the majority of the countries being asleep isn’t evidence enough?” Germany asked, sounding frustrated.

“No, it’s not. I’ll believe it when I see it, asshole. Now, you four do whatever the fuck you want, but do it quietly because I’m going to sleep and if any of you wake me up, I won’t hesitate to rip off your balls and suffocate you with them.” Romano huffed, turning away and stomping up the stairs before slamming the door to a guest bedroom.

“...I’m going to go to bed, too.” Italy said, looking a little nervous.

“Will you be all right on your own?” Germany asked, wanting to know if he should expect being woken in the middle of the night by him saying he was scared and asking to sleep in his bed.

Italy nodded. “Lovi will let me sleep with him. On the inside, he’s just as scared as me.”

“I think we all are.” Spain smiled sadly before yawning. “I’m going to sleep as well. Francis, Ludwig, you can stay in the remaining two guest rooms. If you need anything, my room is the second door on the left.”

“Thank you.” Germany said. France mumbled a tired ‘merci’ and the three of them retired to their rooms upstairs, blissfully unaware of what horrors awaited them in the all-too-near future.


	5. Chapter Five

 It took two days for all the conscious nations to arrive in Europe, and in that time, there hadn’t been a single word from any of their counterparts, nor had there been any other signs of their existence. The humans remained asleep, as did the countries that were affected by whatever ailed the humans, and England was still nowhere to be found.

The emergency world meeting was being held at a conference building in Europe, and Canada was dreading it rather than anticipating learning more about what what was happening. He knew that it was going to be full of arguments and confusion, even more so than usual, and he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that things were only going to get worse from here on out.

So far, Canada hadn’t been told anything about the situation, and from what he’d gathered, no one else had been either. The only ones who had any idea what was happening seemed to be France, Spain, Italy, Romano, and Germany. He understood why they weren’t telling anyone anything until today’s meeting, but that didn’t make not knowing a thing any less concerning.

Since he and America had arrived at one of their many co-owned vacation houses in Europe, he hadn’t stopped cooking and baking. Such was rather convenient, as when America was stressed, he ate far more than usual, so the excessive amount of food wasn’t going to waste.

“I bet England is in on it, too!” America complained, pouting a little as he fiddled with a bendy straw. “He hasn’t answered _any_ of my texts or calls in months! I bet he planned this all as some kind of joke.”

“Al, do you really think he would do that?” Canada sighed, getting tired of hearing his brother’s constant complaints about not knowing what’s going on and occasional ridiculous theory of why humans and smaller countries have fallen asleep.

“You never know! He does weird things.”

“How could he possibly make the entirety of the human and animal population fall asleep at the same exact time?”

“I don’t know! Artie says he can do magic ‘n shit, maybe that’s what he did.” America shrugged.

Canada sighed again.

“But why would he do it?”

“Ask him yourself at the meeting...which is in two hours. We should get going.”

“Alfred, it’s a five minute drive. We have at least an hour and a half left before we’re going to leave.” He said, being patient despite his immense frustration.

“All right, fine, I’ll wait.” America frowned. “But you’re watching SpongeBob with me until it’s time to go.”

Canada groaned, quietly, so that he didn’t know how annoyed he was.

“Can’t do it alone…? You’ve made me watch it six times….”

“But watching things alone is boring.” America whined, before quickly moving on to guilt tripping him. “...you know what? It’s fine. You have more important things to do, like bake a sixth batch of cupcakes, than watch a show with your only brother. I get it. It’s okay.”

Canada looked down at his hands and chewed on his bottom lip, knowing exactly what America was doing and trying to resist it.

“Al, don’t be like that...it’s just-”

“It’s fine, Mattie. I mean, who would wanna watch a show with _me_? I don’t blame you, really....”

He cursed inwardly as he gave in.

“All right, all right, I’ll watch SpongeBob with you.”

“Really? Hell yeah!” America grinned, jumped up, and hugged him. “You’re the best brother ever, dude!”

Canada rolled his eyes fondly and allowed himself to be dragged to the living room of their massive vacation house. As America shouted the theme song at the top of his lungs, he chuckled, ignoring for a little while the ever growing panic in his chest.

* * *

 

The world meeting began at twelve A.M. sharp. Such a thing made the more observant countries uncomfortable, as their meetings had never once begun on time due to argueing. There were no silly quarrels today, and there were no intentional delays, not even one caused by America. Everyone was solemn and spoke in whispers rather than their usual cheery tones, their high spirits dragged down by the weight of concern. The atmosphere was all too similar to that of meetings during wartime, which only increased their shared unease.

Germany cleared his throat and stood, feeling odd at not having to shout for the room to be silent. He rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath before speaking.

“As I am sure all of you already know, in addition to the humans falling asleep, some nations have, too. Time seems to have stopped as well, though the sun still rises and sets.”

“No shit. Get to the point, dumbass.” Romano said, rolling his eyes.

“Please be quiet.” Austria said, sounding quite annoyed. “ _Some_ of us are trying to listen.”

“Yeah, dude. Screw off.” America huffed, for once, genuinely interested in what Germany had to say.

Romano looked shocked to have been reprimanded by America, of all people, and muttered a curse in Italian before shutting up.

“As I was saying,” Germany continued, “many inexplicable things have happened in the past few days, and it seems the only reason we can find for them is magic.”

“Magic?” Belarus asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“That is ridiculous.” Netherlands said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey! Shut up and listen to what he has to say!” Prussia said, annoyed. “He’s the country running this meeting, so shut up; he knows more about what’s going on.”

“Oh, that is right. This is a country meeting. Why are you here, then, Gilbert?” Russia asked happily, smiling. “You are not a nation anymore.”

Prussia tensed up, glared at him, and looked like he was about to stand up and punch him when Germany continued, not acknowledging what any of them had said.

“Before you all discard the idea, listen to what France has to say.” He said, sitting down as France stood up.

“I’m sure you’ve all noticed England’s absence by now.” France began, looking quite upset to say this.

As expected, the few nations who hadn’t realized that looked around and murmured among themselves.

“Where the hell is he?” America asked, shrouding his concern with a poor attempt at annoyance.

“I don’t know. All I know is that he was taken by nations that looked similar to England himself, Japan, Germany, and Italy. We’ve learned that they are nations from another universe, and that they’ve come to ours to kill us. Before you all pani-” France said, interrupted by an outburst of confused questions before he could continue.

The uproar continued, even after Germany shouted for silence, and it didn’t stop until Switzerland stood and fired his shotgun through a window. The deafening boom startled everyone enough to still their tongues, and besides the slight ringing in all their ears, it was perfectly quiet.

Without a word, Switzerland sat back down and Germany straightened his suit jacket.

“Thank you, Switzerland.” He said before looking around the room and taking a deep breath. “Now, before any of you ask how this is possible or discard the idea completely, please turn your attention to the projector.”

Just after he said that, France turned it on and a photograph of the note Oliver had left in one of England’s books appeared on the wall the projector was pointed toward. There were a few gasps and eyerolls, but the majority of them were too unnerved to react.

“This is a note England’s counterpart, Oliver Kirkland, left him soon before he broke through the barrier between our worlds.” Germany said. France went to the next picture, and he continued. “This is what England wrote about these ‘other nations’. This is all we know about them as of right now. If you have any questions, please raise your hand and wait to be called on.”

Immediately, nearly every hand in in the room shot up. Germany sighed and was about to call on the first he saw when a paper airplane flew slowly into the room from the broken window. They all watched it as it soared over their heads and came to land right in front of France.

“What the fuck?” Romano asked, voicing what they all were thinking.

France took up the plane, looking confused. He noticed it had writing on the inside and wondering what it said and where it had come from, unfolded it. He smoothed the paper out, puzzled as to how it have moved through the air so gracefully, and turned it around to read the side that had writing on it. His eyes widened in shock as he realized who this letter was from and saw what was inside.

_Dear Francie-Poppet,_

_It’s me, love! :D All right, so, Luci wants me to give all you nations we left awake a message, so be a dear and spread the word. Firstly, you’re all going to die and there isn’t a single thing any of you can do about it. :) Secondly, by all means, resist! We came here to have fun, not to win an easy fight. Bring swords, guns, bombs, anything! You can’t kill us and we can’t kill you directly, so it really doesn’t matter that much. :P_

_Now, what we’re going to do first is capture as many of you as we can. Then comes the good part! Since a nation can’t die until they aren’t a country anymore, we’re going to torture you until you give in and resign your titles as countries. Then, you or one of your kind will kill you, and your counterpart will automatically take your place as the nation you were in this world instead of you being reborn as a child. We’ll keep doing that until you’re all dead! :D_

_Do your best to prepare and fight back, loves. This is going to be loads of fun! See you all soon!_

_P.S. Yes, we still have England. No, he isn’t dead. He’ll be the last._

_P.P.S. Don’t bother hiding from us. I know where each and every one of you are. Cheers!_

_With love, Oliver Kirkland_

France’s hands shook as he set the paper down, his face drained of all color and his eyes wide.

“W-what did it say?” Italy asked, looking quite worried.

Germany took the paper up and read it, gasping ever so softly as he comprehended just how much trouble they were in. He took a deep breath and proceeded to read it aloud, his calm and collected tone faltering at the last bit.

The room was silent for what seemed like hours before the chaos broke free. Several nations had stood and shouted, angry and scared as they accused them of setting all this up as some sick prank. Others remained in their seats, staring blankly into the distance as they realized just how screwed they were. The remainder, which was mostly just Italy, panicked.

This continued until Denmark stood and slammed his battleaxe into the table, which made everyone, even the ones who had been yelling, immediately shut up.

“Just calm down a moment and breathe, okay?” He said, looking rather grim. “Now is not the time to lose your shit.”

“What else do we do?” America said, actually asking a good question for once.

“We need to join forces and form a plan.” Germany said. “They have the advantage, and we need to have a chance at winning.”  
“No.” Russia said, smiling. “The only plan I follow is my own.”

“Germany has a point.” France said, interrupting those who had begun to agree with Russia. “This isn’t like anything we’ve faced before. Oliver has extremely powerful magic, and we don’t stand a chance on our own. We _must_ join together!”  
“What makes you think we will have a better chance if we fight together?” China asked, scoffing. “I’ve seen how you all fight, and if anything, you will only be a hindrance to those that actually know how to fight.”

“Why don’t we just form our own alliances and do what we think is best?” America said, just as against teaming up as everyone else.

“I agree with America-san.” Japan nodded. “Why work with people we do not get along with when we can work with ones we do?”

“Because sometimes we have to do things we don’t like for the greater good.” Germany stated, looking frustrated. “If you wish for all of us to join forces and fight together, please stand.”

He hadn’t expected very many nations to stand up, but when he saw that he, Italy, France, Hungary, Austria, Belgium, and Ukraine were the only ones, he was a little shocked.

“It’s decided, then. Individual alliances it is.” Germany said, getting an unsettling feeling that doing so wasn’t going to turn out well at all. “The meeting is adjourned. We will meet again at the same time a week from now. ...good luck, everyone.”

Most of the nations stayed to figure out who they were going to ally with, but nations who already knew, like the Nordic Five, left immediately. Germany sighed and walked over to sit next to Italy, who had brought his legs up to his chest and was hugging them for comfort. His amber eyes were open and his pupils narrowed in fear.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said to him, hoping to soothe his obvious unease. “You’re going to be all right, I promise. I will protect you.”

“But what about everyone else?” Italy asked quietly.

Germany didn’t reply to that, not wanting to lie and not wanting to tell him the truth. He merely sat, watching the countries form alliances and hoping that this time next week, they all would still be alive to regret choosing to stand alone.


	6. Chapter Six

 

It had been three days since the meeting, and though all the nations remained in Europe, most of them had kept to themselves and those in their alliances. At first, there had been ceaseless unease that stole sleep from many of them, but after the three days of absolutely nothing happening, they started to breathe a little easier. A few even dared to wonder if this all was a some sick joke, one of which being Belarus.

“They have no fucking proof.” She scoffed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.

“What about the note that flew in?” Ukraine asked, worriedly chewing on her bottom lip and looking like she was about to cry at any given moment.

“Anyone could have written that shit.”

“Almost the entire world has fallen asleep.” Lithuania pointed out hesitantly, not wanting to anger her. “How could they have done that?”  
“Arthur uses magic, da? He could have done it.” Russia said, as cheerful and unaffected as always.

“B-but he’s gone....” Ukraine said.

“That’s not proof that he was taken.” Belarus countered.

“What do you think, Raivis and Eduard?” Russia asked, turning to them. “You two have not said anything.”

“What motive would they have to do it?” Estonia asked rather quietly. Latvia nodded in agreement.

“Motive will not matter when you’re fucking dead.” Belarus said flatly.

“Are you saying they w-want to kill us?” Ukraine asked, her blue eyes filling with tears.

“Katyusha, you don’t have to cry. We will keep you safe, da?” Russia said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Ukraine choked back a sob and nodded, hugging him tightly. He patted her head twice before stopping and looking up.

“Did anyone else hear that?”

“Mr. Ivan, with all due respect, I don’t think now is the time to be making jokes like that….” Lithuania said, looking even more nervous than he had before.

“It was not joke.” Russia said, his smile falling.

As if triggered by his words, the lights blinked off. Ukraine screamed and hugged Russia tighter, Belarus unsheathed her night and cocked her pistol, Latvia whimpered, and Estonia and Lithuania didn’t move or make a sound. Suddenly, they turned back on.

“...what the fuck?” Belarus asked, sounding quite unamused.

“Maybe it was a power outage…?” Lithuania suggested, his voice wavering.

The lights blinked out again and they all tensed up.

“Not a power outage.” Estonia said.

“Nope. Just us!”

The voice was not that of any who had been in the room before the lights turned off again, but it sounded almost exactly like her, so instead of fear, there was confusion. No one had a chance to ask about it, as the lights came back on a moment later.

Where no one had been standing before, there stood a woman who looked shockingly similar to Belarus. But instead of her ever present frown and dark blue eyes, this one had a cheerful grin and bright blue eyes that looked happily at each of them in turn. She wore a hot pink dress with accessories that were also pink, though in various shades. In her perfectly manicured hands, she held a shotgun, which she was pointing at the real Belarus.

Russia realized immediately who she was and reached for his pipe, grasping it tightly.

“Natalya…?” Ukraine asked, looking from her to her sister, her expression confused.

“No, sweetie.” She laughed, cocking the shotgun. “I’m Natasha.”

“Big brother, run!” The real Belarus ordered, lunging toward her counterpart with the most hateful look he had ever seen on her face.

Before he could do exactly the opposite, the lights went out again and the boom of the shotgun firing thundered through the house. There was a heavy thud of a body and the lights blinked back on. The first thing they noticed was that Belarus was on the ground, her head blown off and the bloody pieces splattered on the wall behind where she lay. The second was that in addition to Natasha, there were three other counterparts there this time. One was England, the other Russia, and the last was Ukraine.

Viktor glanced around the room with his crimson eyes, looking apathetic and slightly bored before yawning and running a gloved hand through his jet black hair. He wore a coat almost identical to Russia’s own, except that it was black. In addition to that, his scarf was red and instead of a water pipe, he held a shovel.

Though Russia’s counterpart was slightly similar to the real him, Ukraine’s couldn’t be more dissimilar. Instead of the modest, blue overalls and white shirt she always wore, Katya was wearing fishnet leggings, a black miniskirt, and a revealing purple corset with glittery black designs on it. She was accessorized with various pieces of glistening jewelry and was wearing tall, shiny black stilettos. Her deep red lips were in a wide grin, her violet eyes were wide and cheerful, and her snowy hair was cut shorter than her counterpart’s and spiked.

“Hey, babes!” She giggled.

“Kitty poppet, they’re the enemy.” Oliver laughed. “Not as if that’s an issue, but don’t get too attached, love! We’re going to kill them, after all.”

“You are not going to touch any of us.” Russia said, moving Ukraine, who was staring at Belarus’s bloody figure in horror, behind him. “You are going to leave right now and never come back.”

Oliver burst into laughter and smiled at him. “Oh, now  _ that’s _ cute. Vikky, he actually thinks we’re going to listen to him!”

Viktor glared at him. “Oliver, if you keep calling me that, I will hurt you bad.”

Katya sighed heavily. “Guys, can we get this over with? As cute as this world’s version of Russia is, I want to get to the fun part.”

Before anyone could say anything more, Russia leapt forward and swung his pipe as hard as he could at the nearest one of them, which was Katya. It struck her nose and she cried out in pain before bending over and cupping it with her hands. Russia didn’t waste any time in lifting it to hit someone else, and neither did Viktor in stopping him. He grabbed the pipe and stopped it mid swing.

“That was so rude!” Oliver gasped in horror, touching Katya’s shoulder concernedly. “You okay, dear?”

“Fuck, it hurts!” She growled, glaring at Russia.

“I’ll take care of him, don’t you worry, Kitty.” Oliver turned to Russia and frowned, which, after seeing nothing but a smile on his face since he arrived, was unnerving. “Viktor, hold him.”

Viktor did just that, twisting the pipe out of Russia’s hand and restraining him, which he was able to do due to being stronger and taller. Russia struggled to free himself, but was barely able to so much as make Viktor’s grip falter.

“I’m going to skin you alive.” Oliver hissed, getting so close to Russia’s face that they were nearly touching. He glowered at him for a moment longer before giggling. “Only kidding, pumpkin!” He pinched his cheek and patted it before snapping his fingers in front of him. “Maybe later.”

Russia immediately went limp and slumped over in Viktor’s hold. He then let go of him, causing Russia’s unconscious form to fall to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

“Now, Viktor, Tasha, do little old me a favor, would you? Get Natalya and Eduard. I’ll deal with the other three.” Oliver smiled and turned to the Baltics and Ukraine, who had watched the scene unfold in a horrified silence.

He walked over to them and none of them moved until Lithuania suddenly charged forward, bearing nothing but his fists.

“Leave them alone!” He bellowed.

Oliver giggled and snapped his fingers when Lithuania had almost reached him, which caused him to pass out as well. “Nah!”

He did the same to the other two nations until shaking little Latvia was all that was left. He was sat in a corner, hugging his knees to his chest as tears streaked his cheeks.

“P-please d-don’t kill m-me.” He sobbed.

“Why ever would I do that?” Oliver smiled, kneeling in front of him and brushing a blond piece of hair out of his tearstained face.

“Because y-you’re a m-monster.” Latvia said, flinching away from his touch.

“Oh, poppet, didn’t anyone ever tell you that monsters aren’t real?”

He nodded, hiccuping.

“Well,” Oliver giggled, his light blue eyes twinkling, “they lied.”

With that, he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, causing the little nation’s world to blink into darkness.

* * *

“Wake up, poppet.” A silky, cheerful voice giggled. “You’ve been sleeping for so long. Wake up and look at me; you have such pretty eyes, after all.”

England groaned, feeling the pain of his rather stiff neck as he moved his head to rest on his opposite shoulder. He sat there, in total confusion for a few moments before things shifted and he recalled the last thing he could remember. He had been trying to find a way to keep Oliver and the others out of their world, then France had come. Then, he lost his concentration on the spell keeping them away and the counterparts of him, Italy, Germany, and Japan came. After that….

A jolt of energy surged through his body and his eyes shot open, only to see that he was face to face with none other than himself. The pace of his heart tripled in fear and he tried to reel backward, only for his head to hit the back of a chair. He hissed in the pain it caused his already throbbing head and strained neck and stared in alarm at Oliver, who grinned widely.

“Good morning, cutie!”

“Get the fuck out of my face.” England gritted his teeth and growled at him, scared and pissed off.

Oliver frowned a little. “Someone’s a tad snippity today. Are you sad because you hit your head…?”  
He answered by glaring sharply at him.

“Here, I’ll make it better!” He chirped, smiling as he kissed the top of his head. “How’s that, love?”

“Bloody perfect.” England snapped.

Oliver tsked, crossing his arms with a patient sigh. “We’re going to have to do something about that mouth of yours.”

“Is capturing me and disabling my magic not enough? You want to take away my freedom to speak as well?”  
“No, no, no, not at all, sweetie! I just want you to stop talking so crudely. It’s quite unbecoming.” Oliver smiled as he brushed a piece of hair out of his face.

England flinched away from his touch, which didn’t do much, as he was bound quite securely to the chair.

“Just get to the point, you sick sod. Why did you wake me up? Just to chat? If that’s the case, as much as I’d  _ hate _ to disappoint you, I’m not in the mood.”

“I woke you up for a few reasons, actually. One being that I was bored, the next….” Oliver giggled and whistled loudly. “Bring them in, boys!”

A moment later, the double doors in the empty room the two of them were in flung open and the counterparts of Russia, China, and Spain dragged in four bodies. England’s eyes widened as he immediately recognized them as Belarus, Estonia, Cuba, and Taiwan. Belarus’s head was gone, but it seemed to already be healing and growing back.

He said nothing. He wasn’t going to beg for them to be let go or offer his life up to spare theirs, as he knew he was in no place to bargain and attempting to do so would only encourage Oliver further.

“You do know what we are going to do to them, don’t you, poppet?” Oliver smiled fondly and twirled a piece of England’s hair around his index finger. He swallowed and nodded.

“No, you don’t, silly!” Oliver said with a chortle and glanced at the three nations, nodding for them to leave. Once they did, he turned back to England. “Even  _ I _ don’t know. That’s the best part; it’s a mystery! Luci has a few ideas on how to break them, but nothing’s set in stone until we get to know them a little better.”

“You’re a fucking sick bastard.” He said, glaring at him and ignoring the fear that was trying desperately to claw its way out of his chest.

“Artie-poppet, words hurt…” he pursed his lips into a frown before grinning widely, “but not as much as this.”

England had just opened his mouth to ask what the hell he was talking about when, instead of an inquiry, an agonized scream burst forth as Oliver stabbed a knife into his left thigh. He tensed up and strained against the ropes binding his limbs to the chair, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out more.

Oliver giggled and kissed his cheek with an immature ‘mwah’ sound. “You have a beautiful voice, poppet.”

“If y-you’re trying to get me to resign my ti-title as a nation, know that I-I  _ never _ will.” England growled, glaring at him with the most hateful glower he could muster.

“Oh, I know.” He cooed, trailing his finger around the knife’s elegantly engraved hilt. “This is just for fun.”

Without giving England a chance to reply, Oliver grabbed the knife and twisted it deeper into his flesh, his eyes lighting up with glee as his counterpart screamed and writhed as much as his bonds would allow. He suddenly yanked the blade free, causing both of them to be splattered with blood.

England gripped the armrests as tightly as he could, panting and trying to will away the burning pain, despite knowing he couldn’t. Sweat dripped off his face and he could feel the throb of his heart throughout his whole body as he looked up and glared at Oliver.

He laughed weakly and spat in his face. “My previous statement s-still stands. I’m not going to give up.”

“That’s absolutely perfect, darling,” Oliver grinned widely and pressed the tip of the knife to his chest with a chuckle, “because I’m not going to give up, either.”

With that, he slowly pushed the knife into him, and as England was blinded by the pain, he wondered which of them would be the first to break.

 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Germany didn't have to call the meeting to order the morning after the four nations were captured the night before. For the first time in centuries, it was already silent when he stood. He had been hoping for such to happen for quite a while, but now that it had, he found that it wasn't nearly as satisfying as he thought it would be; the circumstances were far too grim.

"As you all know, Taiwan, Cuba, Ukraine, and Estonia were taken last night and a few other nations were injured." He cleared his throat as he clasped his hands behind his back. "We've gathered today to form a plan of defense."

"Did we not agree on individual alliances?" Russia asked, tilting his head.

"We did, yes, but-"

"Then why change it?" Switzerland asked.

"Why do you think?" France said, obviously frustrated. "Five of us have been captured by them!"

"And that's why we formed our alliances; to fight back! We were just caught off guard." Turkey said.

"And what about next time they attack? Do you think you will be prepared then?" France snapped.

"We have a better chance at fighting them off if we are all together." Germany said.

I am not going to be allied with Prussia." Poland stated, glaring at Prussia.

"Just because I tried to kill you once doesn't mean I'm going to do it again." Prussia rolled his eyes. "Three out of the four people that voted for my country's dissolution are here. Do you think I want to trust them with my life? No. I don't."

France flinched at that and looked down at his folded hands. Though he knew he was forgiven, it still stung to know he didn't fully trust him.

"Is there a point to that statement?" Russia asked.

"Yes, I'm getting to it." He hissed at him before continuing. "I don't trust most of you with my life, and I'm sure all of you feel the same way. But this isn't about just you. It's about all of us and the fate of this world. We need to join together to fight for this world. Do you realize how fucking selfish it is right now to refuse to get along with someone you don't like? The fate of humanity, _your own_ people, rests in your hands, and all you can think about is who you don't want to get along with! For the first time, I am glad to no longer be a country, if _this_ is what it's come to mean. If holding your wants above your people's lives is what you proudly stand for, I'm disgusted that I ever was proud to be one of you. Stop dishonoring your titles by being whining little titty suckers and stand up and fight for them!"

There was a long moment of silence after he finished speaking, the countries who had refused to unite together either looking ashamed or angry. Prussia nodded in satisfaction and sat back down, having stood at some point during his outburst.

"...'Whining little titty suckers'?" Denmark asked, looking slightly amused. "Can't argue with that. I'm in."

"I _can_ argue with that, but I'm going to be the bigger fucking man and not. For once, gray haired Snow White has a damn good point, you selfish fuckers." Romano said grumpily. "I'm in, too."

"Hey! My hair is white, and even if it was gray, 'gray haired Snow White' doesn't describe me at all!" Prussia exclaimed, looking a little embarrassed.

Romano rolled his eyes. "You're right, it's an insult to girls to call you one. You're more like a dumb codfish."

Prussia gasped in offense. "I am not a-"

"I'm joining the alliance, too." Spain interrupted, knowing that if he let them continue, they'd be bickering for hours.

"Me, too." China said, looking as if it had taken a great amount of effort for him to say it.

Nation by nation spoke up until, at last, every single one of them had agreed, even the ones everyone had expected to still refuse. Germany relaxed, feeling slightly more at ease. He was thankful for Prussia's small rallying speech, even if it had been a little unprofessional. That was one of the things he had always envied about his brother; how he always knew what to say to get people to see sense. Without him, he had no idea how he would've gotten everyone to agree to the alliance.

He cleared his throat and stood. "We should form a plan immediately. We don't know when their next attack will be, so we will also have to figure out a way to defend against them despite that. Does anyone have any ideas?"

Italy's hand shot up and Germany blinked, surprised and slightly impressed to see that he was listening and not daydreaming as he usually did during meetings.

"Italy, go ahead."

"What are we going to call the alliance?" Italy asked a little timidly. "I know that doesn't matter right now, but it's nice because we always do it…."

Germany sighed, but didn't reprimand him, as he understood; routine in the midst of disarray was comforting.

"Would 'the World Alliance' work?" He asked, glancing at the other nations. They all nodded or shrugged, most of them not caring if the alliance had a title, much less what it was.

"Then it's decided." Germany nodded. "As for what I was saying before, does anyone have any ideas on how to defend ourselves and somehow give us the advantage?"

"What if we stayed together?" Finland suggested. "That would be a lot safer than being far apart."

"He has a good point." France said.

"Very well, then." Germany nodded. "We'll find a mostly empty hotel and all of us can stay there. Everyone will share a room with at least one other nation; it's safer that way. Also, I strongly recommend that you are armed at all times."

"Yeah, we know. This isn't our first war, dumbass." Romano said, rolling his eyes. "Most of us are a lot older than you, you know."  
"It's the first one we've had that is like this." Germany said.

"Why the hell are _you_ leading this, anyway?" He scoffed and crossed his arms.

"No one else is."

"You haven't given us a fucking chance, bastard!"

Germany sighed and looked at the rest of the nations. "If anyone is willing to take responsibility for everyone's lives and believes they can do a better job than I, please stand."

To no surprise, not a single nation dared stand.

"Now I have given you all a chance." He said, looking at Romano. "May I continue, or do you have something else you want to yell at me about?"

Romano's cheeks burned in humiliation and he glared at him, not saying a word.

"Good." Germany nodded turned his attention to the rest of the nations. "Does anyone have an idea on how to form a solid defense?"

"We need to have someone on guard at all times. Two or more to be safer." Switzerland said.

"Traps. We need to set up booby traps." America said. To everyone's surprise, he didn't snort or giggle immaturely when he said 'booby'. "Land mines, maybe?"

"Land mines?! Are you fucking insane?" Romano asked. "We're already in enough danger without playing real life minesweeper while getting in and out of buildings!"

"It would be useful if the enemy tried to sneak up on us." Japan said. "I think it is a good idea."

"Where are we even going to find land mines?" Poland asked, raising an eyebrow. "Like, they're not just lying around everywhere."

"Obviously." Austria said, rolling his eyes.

"Military arsenals, duh!" America exclaimed, as if such was obvious.

"Even though we're countries, stealing weapons from our militaries seems like a rather stupid idea. How are we going to explain it when all this is over?" Hungary asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Then we make the bombs." Russia said, smiling. "It is easy if you know how."

"We aren't making bombs." Germany stated before anyone else could say anything. "We don't have the time to place land mines and memorize where they are, either. They could attack at any time and we need to be ready as soon as possible."

"I don't see anythin' else we can plan." Sweden said.

"He has a point." Switzerland agreed, standing. "There's nothing more we can plan right now. Let's find a hotel and go there."

Germany nodded and called the meeting to a close after deciding on which hotel. It was a smaller one that likely wasn't very busy this time of year, so there weren't going to be many unconscious humans to move out of harm's way before the inevitable fighting begun.

He glanced around the room and ran a hand over his face and sighed. There was already squabbling about roommate arrangements and they hadn't even left the conference building yet. He considered pairing them up himself to avoid complications, but decided against it. It wasn't absolutely necessary for them all to be serious right now, as much as he wished they were, so he opted to let them quarrel. After all, it did temporarily shift the tension to a more lighthearted matter.

"Hey, now that everyone's asleep, I can drink!" America exclaimed, delighted. "There's none of my bosses to stop me! Who wants to get hammered with me?"

"You're seriously using this as an excuse to drink?" Austria asked, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"You bet your pompous ass I am!" America said with a grin.. "I can't get drunk hardly as often as I want!"

"Is that the best idea right now…?" Belgium asked, smiling uneasily. "We should be on our guard, not intoxicated."

"She has a very good point." Germany said. "No drinking, any of you."

"What?" America exclaimed, his eyes wide and sad. "That's so not fair!"

"Would you rather get fucking captured by one of our counterparts and likely be tortured until you beg for death?" Romano asked, glaring at him.

"...would I get to get to have a drinking contest with Ivan?"

"Fuck waiting for the counterparts. I'm going to torture him until he begs for death right now." Romano started walking towards America, his expression even more annoyed and pissed off than usual.

Spain put a hand on Romano's shoulder, stopping him. "That's probably not a good idea, mi amigo." He said with a laugh.

"Neither is letting that shit brained idiot roam free, yet everyone lets him! He's already caused enough damage; look at what he did to pizza!"

"Hey, I improved it!" America defended.

Spain was barely able to grab Romano before he attempted to lunge at him.

"Take it back! Fucking take that back right this second, you shit eating dumbass!" Romano screeched, thrashing around to free himself from Spain's hold.

America laughed loudly. "The truth hurts, don't it, bud?"

"He called me 'bud'!" Romano seethed, his face practically burning with anger. "Let me kill him! _Please_ , let me fucking kill him!"

"Come on, Lovino. Let's go have some spaghetti, sí? That always cheers you up." Spain said, chuckling as he dragged him away from America.

"What a funny guy!" America laughed, oblivious to the fact that Romano genuinely wanted to kill him at the moment.

"You want to have drinking contest with me, da?" Russia asked.

"Hell yeah, dude!" He grinned widely. "I wanna prove to you that I'm better than ya at drinkin'!"

"You aren't even better than him at speaking your own language, much less something he's good at." Austria said, sounding moderately disgusted.

America either didn't hear him or ignored him completely, as his stupid smile didn't falter.

"Then we will have drinking contest." Russia said happily. "Does anyone want to join?"

Not a single hand was raised. They all knew how competitive America and Russia were against each other from past experiences, and none of them wanted to get caught in the crossfire...especially not since alcohol was going to be involved.

After several more minutes of various arguments and conversations amongst the nations, they left for the hotel. They laughed and joked around as usual on their way there, ignoring as best as they could the constant threat of death looming over their heads.


	8. Chapter Eight

After they arrived at the hotel and moved every unconscious human out of the way of potential danger, everyone paired up with a roommate and was settled in their hotel rooms soon later. Most of them were taking this time to gather weapons and form strategies with one another, but a few were simply lazing around, either already prepared or confident they didn’t need any more preparation.

Italy and Romano had decided to room together, and for the past five minutes, Italy had been nervously bouncing his leg and glancing around the room, looking as if he were on the brink of a mental breakdown.

“Feliciano, I swear to God, if you don’t stop bouncing your damn leg, I’m going to fucking change rooms and leave you with Russia or some shit.” Romano snapped, glaring at his brother.

Italy immediately stopped and looked at him, his normally closed eyes wide open and horrified. “N-no! L-Lovino, no! D-don’t do that! I-I’m scared of I-Ivan and- and- please, d-don’t!”

Romano looked over at him and frowned more. “Shut up. I’m not going to leave you behind, stupid. Stop your crying; you’re like a damn baby, it’s pathetic.”  
Italy nodded, hiccuped, and launched himself at him, hugging him tightly. “I-I’m scared.”

“I know.” He said, for once not protesting about being hugged.

“A-are you scared, t-too?”

“No.” Romano lied.

“Why n-not?”

“I know we’re going to kick their asses, that’s why.” He said firmly.

“Oh, really?”

For a moment, Italy thought the voice was Romano’s, and in a way, he was right. It was Romano’s...just not the Romano he knew. He pulled away from their embrace and saw a man standing a few feet away from them, his eyes widening in fear as he realized who it was.

Flavio didn’t look much like his counterpart, as instead of angry hazel eyes, his were fuchsia and happy through his pink tinted glasses. His hair wasn’t brown, either, but rather a fair blonde. He wore a white designer suit and a deep red scarf around his neck.

Romano jumped in shock and tensed up, immediately standing and grabbing the gun next to him before pointing it at him with shaking hands.

“S-stay the f-fuck back!”

Flavio looked him up and down, peering over the rim of his glasses, his gaze judgmental and slightly disgusted. “I hope you aren’t seriously thinking about going out wearing  _ that _ . It’s absolutely hideous. Brown and tan?” He scoffed. “Talk about bland!”

Italy finally registered what was going on and shakily stood, breathing rather quickly. “R-Romano….” He said, his voice quite panicked.

He didn’t answer and continued to point the gun at Flavio, his hands shaking so badly, he couldn’t hold it still.

“You need a makeover, honey.” Flavio’s eyes flickered to Italy, which made him flinch and shrink back a bit. “...both of you. You’re cute, I’ll give you that, but you could be so much cuter if you actually put effort into yourselves, you know what I mean?”

“S-shut up!” Romano stuttered. “I’ll fucking shoot you!”

He looked slightly distressed at that. “Please, don’t. This suit is brand new….”

“I don’t fucking c-care!”

“Boo.” A voice right next to Romano’s ear whispered.

Romano jumped in shock and shifted his gun to point who startled him, his eyes widening in fear when he saw who it was.

A man with the same face as his brother was smiling at him, his magenta eyes open and seemingly baring into his soul. His expression was terrifying; happy, yet malicious. But even worse than that was the knife he was holding to a stunned Italy’s throat.

“Drop the gun right this second.” Luciano said, pressing the knife harder to his throat, which broke the skin and caused Italy to whimper and start crying.

“L-let me go, p-please!” He sobbed.

“Shut the fuck up.” Luciano snapped, yanking upward the arm he had twisted behind his back, which made Italy cry out in pain.

Romano’s vision blurred as tears filled his eyes and he clutched the gun tighter, too afraid to let it go.

“Have it your way, then!” Luciano said impatiently. Romano was just about to start shouting again when Luciano moved the knife at Italy’s neck to the left and then sharply to the right, slitting the skin over his throat wide open.

Italy fell to the ground and started convulsing, blood spurting out of the gash in his throat, staining his blue uniform and the ground. Romano dropped the gun and covered his mouth with a shaking hand in horror.

“F-Feli!” He cried, quickly kneeling to comfort his brother. He knew he wouldn’t actually die, but he knew from past experience that it didn’t make the ordeal any less terrible.

Italy’s face was contorted in a pained grimace as he struggled to breathe, his attempts to do so sounding more like gurgling gasps than breaths. Romano watched him in a panic and held his hand, not caring if how tightly he was holding it hurt him, knowing that he was unable to anything but sit there as his little brother bled out and spasmed on the floor.

By the time Italy’s guttural cries and convulsions stopped, tears were streaking Romano’s cheeks, ones of fear, anger, and sadness. When he wiped his face dry, he snarled as he looked up at Luciano,  shocked to find that he wasn’t there anymore, and that they weren’t at the hotel anymore.

He glanced around, his breathing quickening in fear and saw that he was in a small room, judging by the look of the floor and walls, likely in an abandoned bunker. He turned to look at Italy again to see if he had started to heal, but the only sign to show that he was ever there being a fresh bloodstain on the dirty ground. He frantically looked around the room, his searching stopping the moment he saw that he wasn’t alone. Flavio was there, sitting in a chair with his legs crossed as he daintily inspected his nails.

“Finally noticed we left?” He asked with a chuckle.

“W-where am I? Where is F-Feliciano?!” He shouted, reaching for the second gun he had on his belt, only to find that it was gone.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Flavio said in a teasing voice as he stood and started walking toward him.

Romano scrambled away from him and soon, his back hit a wall. Flavio came closer and kneeled down, looking at him in a disgusted pity. The look angered Romano and made him feel even more vulnerable, so he did what he could by spitting on him.

Flavio gasped in horror and immediately stood, looking in complete and utter mortification at the spit mark on his pristine white coat jacket. He took the jacket off and looked at it mournfully before setting it on the table in the room. Then his gaze shifted back to Romano, his expression angry and downright petrifying.

“You’re going to regret that.” He hissed. “I was going to be nice to you but now...now you’re going to scream until your throat bleeds.”

Romano began to shake with fear, and for the first time in his life, was completely and wholly terrified of what the future held.

* * *

 

When Italy woke, his neck was throbbing and he felt extremely weak and lethargic, just as he had expected to feel, unfortunately. Perhaps a little worse. He sat where he was and kept his eyes closed, too drained to muster the energy to open them.  _ What happened…? _ He thought.  _ Where’s Romano? _

“Romano isn’t here right now.” A soothing, velvety voice cooed.

In his state, Italy failed to notice that the voice that spoke was his own, or that he hadn’t said that aloud, but in his head.

_ Oh. _ He thought again, not realizing that he wasn’t actually speaking.  _ Why? Where is he? We were supposed to stay together...he’s probably going to yell at me later. _

“He shouldn’t yell too much. He couldn’t have done anything about it, trust me.” The voice said again, just as silkily as before.

_ How do you know for sure? _

“I’m the one who made him leave. He knows it’s not your fault because I’m the one who’s going to have each and every one of you killed.” The voice purred. “Come on, I know you know who I am.”

Italy struggled to open his eyes and when he did, only saw the blurry outline of a person standing close to his face.

“I know you can do it….” He giggled. “Come on. I know you know me...I’m you.”

Italy gasped and attempted to blink his eyes clear, but to no avail. “L-Luciano?” He asked fearfully.

“Indeed I am. Ciao, Feliciano.” Luciano chuckled.

Italy panicked and despite being sluggish, attempted to escape, only to find that he was bound tightly to a chair.

“Oh, now  _ that  _ is pathetic. Do you really think after all I’ve done to get you at my fingertips, I’d let you just...slip away?” He laughed, somehow making it sound like a threat. He reached out and stroked Italy’s cheek. “What a  naïve little bitch.”

Italy tried to shrink away from his touch, but only ended up bumping his head on the back of the chair. His eyes filled with tears and his breathing started to quicken in panic.

“P-please...let m-me go. I-I promise I w-won’t tell an-anyone!”

“Why the hell would I care if you told anyone? You could tell every single country left and it wouldn’t change a damn thing.” Luciano said, sounding a little bored. “And quit with trying to bargain with me.”

“Please!” He cried desperately, the tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

“I said to stop bargaining with me.” He growled.

“I’ll-I’ll do whatever you want, j-just please d-don’t hurt me!”

Without warning, Luciano slapped him across the face, hard.

“Shut the fuck up!” He shouted, the anger in his voice chilling Italy to the core.

He silenced instantly, his eyes wide and startled at both the pain and the shout. The slap must have brought him back to his senses fully, because his vision cleared moments later and he saw the face of his captor. He immediately wished he hadn’t, because seeing the fury on the face of his counterpart only terrified him more.

“It’s been three minutes since you woke up and I already want to cut out your tongue.” He growled in annoyance.

“I-I’m sorry, I-”

“Just shut up!” Luciano shouted, stabbing a knife that seemed to appear out of thin air into his upper arm.

Italy screamed at the pain and gritted his teeth, fresh tears following the paths of ones already shed down his cheeks. The pain was overwhelming and made him feel quite light headed and nauseas, and all he wanted was to lie down and sleep. He yanked the knife out, it making a disgusting squelching noise as it came free. Italy cried out softly and flinched away, though the bonds held him firmly in place.

“That’s more like it.” Luciano purred, forcing him to tilt his head upright by pressing the tip of the bloody knife under his chin. “Remember, all you have to do is renounce your title and this all will end. Until then…” he grinned widely, “I am going to have  _ so _ much fun making you scream.”

 


	9. Chapter Nine

The next morning when all the nations met for breakfast, everyone was present except for the Italy brothers. Most of them didn’t notice, but the four that did, Germany, Japan, France, and Spain, were looking around a little anxiously for them. Though the two Italians were prone to oversleeping, Germany seriously doubted that they had slept through his wakeup call ten minutes prior, which had included shouting and banging on each door as he passed.

“Perhaps they went somewhere to make their own food?” Japan suggested, though he looked as if he doubted the possibility.

“Why would they not have told anyone?” France asked, twirling a blond curl around his finger in worry. “Especially in the situation that we are in….”

“Maybe they’re still sleeping?” Spain said, relaxing a little. “That’s probably it.”  
“Even Alfred-san did not sleep through the wakeup call, and he has slept through an actual bomb going off….”

“I’m going to check.” Germany said, standing.

“I’ll come, too.” France said, standing as well. “I have nothing to do here anyways.”

Germany nodded and left the dining room with him, staring down at the floor as he walked, his expression even more serious than usual. France said nothing as they made their way toward their room, too nervous to care about breaking the thick silence.

They soon arrived and Germany took out one of the hotel’s master keys and slid it into the card slot. The door unlocked and beeped, and he opened the it. Though he had been quite sure that neither of the Italy brothers were going to be there, he hadn’t been prepared to see what he did.

“Mon dieu….” France breathed, stumbling backwards a bit, his hand covering his mouth in shock as he stared in horror at the scene in front of them.

There was blood everywhere. It was dark and dried, which somehow made things worse. It was mostly on the floor, but it was also smeared on the beds...and painted on the wall in a similar handwriting to the note shown at the meeting that Oliver wrote.

**W** **_E_ ** **H** **_AV_ ** **E** **_F_ ** **E** **_LIC_ ** **IA** **_N_ ** **O A** **_N_ ** **D L** **_OV_ ** **INO**

**_D_ ** **O** **_Y_ ** **OU** **_R_ ** **B** **_ES_ ** **T** **_T_ ** **O P** **_R_ ** **E** **_PA_ ** **RE**

**_W_ ** **E’** **_RE_ ** **C** **_O_ ** **MI** **_N_ ** **G B** **_A_ ** **C** **_K_ **

**-** ** _LU_** **CIA** ** _N_** **O A** ** _ND_** **_F_** **LA** ** _V_** **IO VAR** ** _G_** **A** ** _S_**

Neither Germany nor France said anything for almost a full minute, not able to speak in their utter shock and horror.

“T-there’s no way he can endure….” France whispered, tears streaking his cheeks. “Lovino might, b-but Feli….”

“We must warn the others.” He said, his voice considerably less confident than he usually sounded. He turned and started walking back to the dining room, and France followed, wiping away his tears and sniffling.

They arrived before long, and Germany opened the doors before stepping inside. A moment later, there was absolute silence. Everyone had glanced over, and after seeing the grim expression on his face, stopped talking immediately. Even America didn’t say a word, for once understanding that times like this were not appropriate for joking around.

Germany took a deep, shaky breath, and cleared his throat. “...The Italy brothers have been taken.”

There were various gasps, and nearly everyone sounded shocked or afraid as they whispered amongst themselves. Hungary and Belgium looked like they were going to cry and Japan looked distraught, but the worst was the complete and total devastation on Spain’s face.

“Due to this, I urge you all to form larger groups. The more there are of you, the easier it will be to defend against the enemy and keep watch.” Germany said before sitting down at the nearest empty table and staring numbly into the distance. He had promised many times to always protect Italy...and now he might never see his face again.

* * *

 

Romano was woken by the sound of crying. It was a soft, almost whimpering sound, and sounded all too familiar, but in his hazy state, he didn’t bother trying to figure out who it was. His mind was too fogged up and his body throbbed too much for him to care. After he had spat on Flavio’s coat, he had tortured him by burning him with red hot metal rods. It had been agony, and he didn’t stop until Romano passed out. Most of the burns were healed now, for which he was thankful, but his arms still felt a little like they were on fire.

He tried to move his hand up to rub at his eyes, but he had forgotten that his wrists were bound to the chair, and also that moving would likely make the slight burning feeling worse. Unfortunately for him, it did. A hot spike of pain shot up his arm and he inhaled sharply, groaning as he let the breath out. The crying immediately ceased, and a terrified, quavering voice spoke.

“Who-who’s t-there?”

Romano’s head jerked upright and his eyes snapped open, only to see nothing but darkness. But he didn’t need to see to recognize that voice.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Lovino!” Italy gasped, his voice filled with relief. “Lovino, you’re okay!”

Romano’s heart filled with dread and he let out a string of curses under his breath. Of course he was here, too; they had captured them both the night before.

“I’m going to fucking kill you! What are you doing?! Get out of here, you dumb bastard!” He whisper shouted at him.

“But-but I can’t!” He whispered back, sounding a bit panicked. “I’m tied up!”

“Of course you’re freaking tied up. God, I hate you so much.” Romano grumbled bitterly, even though he didn’t mean it.

“‘I hate you’? That’s so sad! What if that was the last thing you ever said to him?” Flavio’s voice asked, the sound of his cheerful tone echoing through the room, followed by a dark chuckle.

Romano jumped in shock and looked around, though his efforts to see proved fruitless. “You bastard! Let me go right this goddamn minute!”

“It could be, you know.” He said, continuing as if he hadn’t heard a thing. “I could shove a white hot pole down your throat and permanently scar your vocal cords, and one of the last things dear little Feliciano will remember you saying to him will be ‘I hate you’. How does that make you feel?”  
“Shut the fuck up!” He shouted, tugging against the ropes holding his wrists to the armrests, ignoring the pain it caused his not yet fully healed wounds.

“L-Lovino, it’s okay! I-I know y-you don’t mean it when you say t-things like that.” Italy said, his voice quiet and wavering in fear.

“I agree with Lovino. Shut the fuck up.” Luciano growled, sounding quite annoyed.

Without warning, the lights turned on, causing Romano to wince and blink until his eyes adjusted. When they finally did, he saw that his brother was tied up identically to him, and was a few feet away, facing him. Luciano walked over to Italy and roughly grabbed his face.

“What have I been telling you about talking?” He hissed. Italy stared at him, his eyes wide and fearful as he began to shake. “Shut. Your. Mouth.”

Romano’s anger tripled and he glowered at Luciano with as much malice as he could muster. “Get your fucking hands off my brother and get out of his face right this goddamn minute before I-”

He was interrupted by Luciano’s laughter. He let Italy go to turn and face him, his lips pulled into a huge grin, and his magenta eyes open wide and bearing the gleam of insanity.

“Before you...what? What could you possibly to do me, you pathetic piece of shit? You’re bound to a chair.”

Hatred churned in Romano’s chest as he grit his teeth and clenched his fists. “Leave my brother alone.” He growled threateningly.

Luciano walked toward him, getting so close so that their noses were nearly touching. “No.” He said firmly before swiftly turning and going back over to Italy.

“N-no! Please, d-don’t!” He cried out desperately, flinching away from him.

Without hesitation, Luciano raised a gloved hand and smacked him across the face, hard enough to make the sound resonate loudly through the room. He didn’t give any of them a chance to react before he slapped him again. And again. And again. He continued to do so, only increasing in viciousness when Italy begged for him to stop.

“Stop it!” Romano screamed, thrashing around in the hopes that he could break free. “Just stop it! Hurt me instead, just leave him alone!”

Luciano paused and looked at him, shaking a little as he giggled with absolute mirth. “And why would I do that? You seem so desperate for me to stop...I’ll tell you what, Lovino. I’ll make you a deal. If you resign your title, I’ll stop. I won’t lay a single finger on your  _ precious _ fratellino.” He glanced briefly at Italy, trailing a finger down one of his swollen, red cheeks, which made him whimper and shrink backwards.

Romano’s eyes widened in fear and he found that his mouth had gone dry. “I-I...I can’t.”

He grinned. “Just what I was hoping to hear.”

Luciano pulled a long knife from a crevice in his clothing and quickly stabbed it into Italy’s chest. He arched in pain and screamed, the shrill, pained sound filling Romano’s ears and his heart with shame and utter horror. His little brother, the one he had promised Rome he would protect, was being tortured in front of him, and he was too scared to resign his title and make it stop.


	10. Chapter Ten

The five Nordic countries sat in the room they all now shared due to that morning’s news of the Italy brothers being captured. Sweden and Finland sat on one bed, Norway and Denmark on the other, and Iceland in a chair between the two beds. They had been silent for quite a while now, the last thing said being something dark and dreary.

Finland suddenly stood, looking quite anxious and concerned. “We have to find something to do. We can’t just sit here and-and not say anything! We should try to play a game or something, yeah?” He smiled hopefully.

“We don’t have any games.” Iceland sighed.

“Oh! There’s games that can be played without pieces, right? We could play one of those!” Denmark said excitedly, seemingly unaffected by the gloom surrounding them all. “Alfred taught me this one once called Never Have I Ever. You put up ten fingers and say things you’ve never done, and those who’ve done it put their fingers down!”

“...you do realize that except for Emil, we’ve all been alive for hundreds of years? There’s almost nothing we  _ haven’t _ done, Mathias.” Norway said flatly.

“Sure there is! Have any of you eaten four whole cakes in one sitting?”

There was confused blinking from the four of them before everyone shook their head.

“Why would any of us have done that?” Iceland asked, rolling his eyes.

“Alfred has!” Denmark laughed.

“Don’t c’mpare us t’ him.” Sweden stated.

“Maybe we can find a different game?” Finland suggested, his smile becoming less forced at hearing the conversation between his four favorite people.

“Can that game be getting food? I’m hungry.” Denmark chirped.

“We just ate dinner twenty minutes ago.” Norway sighed.

“No, that’s a good idea! We could all benefit from a walk.” Finland pulled Sweden to his feet before looking at the others. “Come on!”

Denmark jumped up and was the first out the door, and Iceland and Norway reluctantly stood and followed behind Sweden and Finland, neither of them really wanting to leave the hotel room, even though they were all armed.

The five of them started walking down the hallway, keeping a sharp eye out, yet somehow managing to also keep their spirits high. Denmark and Finland, anyways.

“At least we’re getting a break from work!” Finland said, even though they all knew they’d much rather be working than be in the situation they were in.

“And we get to stay in a nice hotel!” Denmark added.

“We get to all the time for meetings.” Norway stated.

“Still! It’s fun.”

“You’re the oldest out of us, yet you act the youngest.” Iceland said, sighing.

“That’s because you don’t act like the youngest, and someone has to!” Denmark laughed again.

 

They had almost reached the kitchen when Finland heard the muffled sound of a gunshot. He jumped in shock, grabbed his gun from his shoulder, and looked around.

“Did any of you hear that?” He asked quickly.

“Hear what…?” Iceland asked, raising an eyebrow.

“There was a silenced gunshot!”

“It’s been a long few days...are you sure it was r-” Norway was interrupted by Sweden as he grunted in pain.

Finland immediately spun around, his eyes widening in horror when he saw that he was leaning against the wall, blood soaking through his blue uniform. He was by his side in an instant, helping him to the floor so he didn’t have to stand. The bullet had hit his chest, and if the way he was wheezing for air and coughing up blood was anything to go off of, it had collapsed his lung. Finland hushed him and brushed a bit of his hair out of his eyes before kissing his forehead and standing.

“Stay with him and keep him calm.” He said firmly before turning the safety off on his gun and glaring at the figure that stood in the shadows of the hall they were walking down.

Thankfully, none of the other three Nordics protested and stayed by Sweden as Finland strode toward the nation, who walked toward him as well. When the man came into the light, he saw that it was his counterpart. His eyes were dark red and bore a cold glare, his hair so pale a blond that it was almost white, and his uniform was identical to Finland’s, despite that it was red instead of light blue. He bore a serious, angry expression, and he held a gun in his hands as well, keeping it aimed at him as they wordlessly approached one another. They stopped when they were close enough to speak, each one glaring at the other.

“Get the hell out of here.” Finland growled, his finger curling around the trigger. “You and whoever came with you. Get out before I blow your heads off.”

“I came alone.” Eero hissed, sounding and looking annoyed.

“I don’t care! You hurt Berwald, and that’s all I care about. Get the f-”

Finland was interrupted as his counterpart leapt towards him, and he squeezed the trigger of his gun to shoot him. A split second before he did so, Eero disappeared. He immediately looked around in alarm, prepared to tackle him to the ground or shoot at him again, but he was nowhere in sight. Wary and concerned for Sweden, he hurried back to where the rest of the Nordics were.

“What happened? Where did he go?” Denmark asked, wide eyed.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think he’s gone for sure….” Finland said, glancing at him before looking at Sweden, who was now unconscious and lying on the floor. “What happened…?”

“I knocked him out. ...couldn’t stand to watch him suffer like that. He’ll heal quicker unconscious, anyways.” He said, looking quite upset.

Finland nodded and glanced around again before his uneasy expression turned to panic. “Where’s Emil?”

Norway’s eyes widened and he looked away from Sweden, looking frantically around the hallway as he stood, his breathing picking up. “He was just here….”

Denmark stood as well, his eyes filling with tears. “Oh, god...no.”

Norway broke into a sprint and began searching, and Denmark did the same, going in the opposite direction. Finland stayed with Sweden, trying his best to keep his composure. It was clear that Eero had gotten what he came for, so he put his gun down and held tightly to Sweden’s hand for comfort. He silently repeated over and over in his head that he wasn’t going to break down, but when Norway and Denmark returned several minutes later with heartbroken expressions and without Iceland, he lowered his head in his hands and sobbed until no more tears came.

* * *

 

Canada stared at the ceiling of his and America’s hotel room, not even bothering to try to sleep. If the past few nights were anything to go off of, he wouldn’t have any luck, and if he did, what sleep he managed to get was plagued by nightmares. It seemed to be the same with America, as he hadn’t seen him close his eyes for more than a second since they arrived in Europe.

He glanced over at his brother and sighed. He still bore his usual grin, which Canada didn’t quite understand. Seven countries had been taken since this all began, and the eighth, Iceland, had been captured just hours hours ago. He had expected him to be at least a little upset by England being gone, but instead of admitting to himself that he was scared, America merely delved further into the cheerful, energetic attitude he always had. Those who didn’t know him well enough thought he was just using this as an opportunity to acquire more attention, but the very few that knew him as well as Canada did were aware that such was not the case. It wasn’t that he didn’t care or wasn’t taking the situation seriously, but rather that if he acknowledged just how terrified he was, he would fall apart.

Watching his brother go from game to game on his phone and jabber on about the most random of things was usually annoying, but in this case, it made Canada quite sad. America had never been very good with dealing with his emotions, and seeing how much pain and fear was in his eyes while there was a grin on his face was upsetting.

Bottling up emotions until they couldn’t be borne any longer was an awful habit, of which both of the North American brothers were guilty, and Canada was tired of watching America get worse with each day, so he took a deep breath and hoped trying to help him would work.

“Al, is there anything you want to talk about?”  
America glanced up from his current game of Angry Birds, an eyebrow raised. “Huh? What makes you suddenly ask something like that? I’m totally fine, dude!”  
He sighed patiently. “...there’s a lot going on right now and I can tell it’s getting to you. Ignoring what’s upsetting you doesn’t make it any better, trust me.”

“Pfft, it’s just a little stress, that’s all! Can you blame me?” His smile faltered before he laughed loudly. “God, you’re such a worrywart, Matt!”

“I’m being serious. We both know you’re not taking this well and I want to talk to you about it. It’ll help.”

“I don’t need help. Especially not from my little bro!” America smiled and ruffled Canada’s hair. “I’m the one that’s supposed to help you, remember?”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m the younger brother. Please talk to me…?”

“About what?”

“About why you’re upset.”

“But I’m not!” He insisted, laughing a little. “Really, I’m not.”

“Alfred, I-”

“Matthew, really. I’m okay.” America sighed, looking slightly irritated. “I don’t know why you’re so worried, anyways! Everything’s going to be just fine, I promise. I’ll save everyone before anything really bad happens!”

“...I’m going to shower.” Canada said, standing. Trying to have a serious conversation with America was only stressing him out more, and he didn’t have the strength to be firm with him at the moment.

When he went into the bathroom and closed the door, America took a deep breath, stood from the chair he was in, and flopped onto his bed. He laid there, unmoving, as thoughts darted through his mind. Canada was right; he wasn’t taking this well. He wished he had the bravery to admit that he wasn’t able to be strong through everything, but as with every other case before this one, he had no such luck.

As he stared up at the ceiling, his expression changed from relaxed to concerned. England had been in the hands of their counterparts for a little over a week, and America couldn’t help but wonder how much of that time he had spent screaming in agony. As Oliver had said in the note he sent, they were going to torture them until they resigned their titles and immortality, and then make them either kill themselves or have another country from their world kill them. England was one of the most stubborn people he knew, and he knew for a fact that he hadn’t given up, but thinking of what he likely has endured since he was captured upset America greatly. Though the two had a difficult past, he couldn’t deny that he still cared quite a bit for the cantankerous old nation.

He closed his eyes, ran a hand through his hair, and sat up. He took another deep breath, opened his eyes, and was about to reach for his phone when a baseball bat with nails embedded in it was moved in front of his face. America immediately recoiled and quickly stood.

“Woah, what the f-” his words died on his tongue when he saw who stood in front of him. It was his counterpart. Allen  was much tanner than he, had more muscles, dark brown hair, and deep red eyes. Instead of a smile, which America often wore, he was frowning and appeared almost disgusted to look at him. He was wearing an old looking, black tank top, jeans, and a rather worn version of his signature bomber jacket. He also held the bat, which somehow looked far more menacing now that he saw who was holding it.

“Holy- dude, you scared me!” America stumbled back, forcing the fear in his chest away with a laugh. “Ever heard of knockin’?”

“Hysterical.” Allen rolled his eyes, clearly unamused. He lifted his bat and swung it at him, and America just barely was able to dodge it.

“Dude, woah! I think we got off on the wrong foot. We should grab a few burgers and talk it out!” He grinned widely as he dodged another swing of the bat, though his heart was racing.

“I’m vegan...and not a big fan of ‘talking it out’.” He paused in his attempts to hit him and rolled his eyes again.

“Wait, what?!” America gaped at him in shock. “You’re a  _ vegan _ ?!”

“As sure as you a fucking moron.”

“But- how? How do you survive without meat?!”  
“It’s easy.”

“God, you’re nothing like me, even though we’re basically the same person!”

Allen answered with another swing of his bat, which America hadn’t expected. It hit his left shoulder and pain instantly burst from the area, causing him to cry out. He stumbled back in shock and looked at the bat with wide eyes, feeling a little sick, as some cloth and bloody flesh from his shoulder were stuck to the nails in it. His wound was throbbing, but he hardly paid it any heed, the fear he had been suppressing now consuming his mind and making it nearly impossible to think of anything else.

“Finally, you shut up.” Allen sighed exasperatedly. He stepped forward and was just about to hit him again when there was the sound of a shotgun cocking.

“Get the fuck away from him  _ right now _ .” A voice growled. America didn’t recognize whose voice it was until the looked over and saw Canada practically snarling at Allen, holding a shotgun and keeping it pointed at him, his hands unwavering and his usually soft violet eyes full of seething anger.

Allen looked and him and groaned in annoyance. “Do you guys seriously think we’re going to listen to you when you say shit like that?”

Canada curled his finger around the trigger and clenched his teeth. “Put the bat down and get the hell away.”

He muttered something under his breath and rolled his eyes. “Matt, deal with him.”

Canada blinked in confusion before the realization clicked and he gasped. Matt was his counterpart; he remembered his name from the list Germany and France had found at England’s house. He was just about to spin around to check if he was really there when what felt like the end of a hockey stick harshly collided with the back of his head. He cried out in pain and dropped his gun, falling to his knees and clutching the throbbing lump on his skull.

“Are you going to leave him or take him?” Allen asked, sounding bored.

“Leave him. I want to have fun capturing him, not just drag his unconscious body away.” Matt said, lifting his hockey stick and hitting Canada’s head again, which caused him to collapse forward, out cold.

The sight of his brother limp and lying on the ground, his blond hair stained with his own blood, snapped America out of his terrified daze. He clenched his fists and his fear was burned away by anger as he looked from Matt to Allen. He didn’t bother uttering a threat before he lunged forward, too furious to even think straight, much less speak.

As the rational part of him expected, he wasn’t able to land even one punch on either of them before he was on the ground, blinded by pain. He groaned and tried to push himself upright, but his arms gave out. He gave up on trying to get up and instead struggled to grasp his pistol, which was strapped to his hip. Unfortunately, Allen noticed and stomped on his hand, which broke at least one of his fingers. America let out a choked gurgle and desperately tried to crawl away, but he’d hardly moved an inch before his world blinked into darkness in a burst of pain.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

Breakfast the next morning was chaos. Instead of eating, the news they had woken up to had sparked one of the most disarrayed meetings they'd ever had. In addition to Iceland, which they all knew had been captured last night, America, Hong Kong, and South Korea had been captured as well. Due to this, it wasn't just the Nordics that were now very angry and eager to fight back, but also Canada, Japan, China, and all the close friends of the ones who had been taken.

"We have to find our counterparts and fight!" Denmark shouted.

"They're torturing th-them!" Canada said desperately, for once, actually being heard by everyone in the room. "We can't just stand around and do nothing while the people we love are-"

"But how are we supposed to find them?" China asked, looking disheveled, scared, and as frustrated as they all felt. "It is impossible."

"Don't say it's i-impossible." Ukraine whimpered, fighting back tears.

"What are we supposed to say, then? That everything is going to be fine?" Switzerland shouted. "It's not fine! We're being hunted down and any one of us could be next!"

"We already know that!" Austria snapped.

"Arguing isn't going to do anything." Netherlands said, his brow creased. "We need to form a plan."

"What a fucking great idea!" Poland rolled his eyes. "If only we had thought of that sooner."

"Hey, don't talk to my brother that way!" Belgium frowned and crossed her arms.

"We have bigger things than that to worry about right now!" Lithuania interjected.

Before anyone could say anything more, Prussia lost what little patience he had and leapt up onto the table. "Everyone, just shut the fuck up! All this petty squabbling is only making things worse and accomplishing nothing, and you all know it; just sit the hell down and chill!"

There was a moment of hesitation, but everyone ended up doing as he said and sitting down. Prussia got off the table and nodded in satisfaction.

"Much better. Gott, and you call yourself nations! You're all pathetic." He ran a hand over his face in frustration. "If you don't get your shit together, the chances of us all dying are far greater, you know that? You're goddamn nations! You've been through hell and back, and I know you have, because I've seen it happen. This isn't like anything any of us have experienced before, but who shits a give? I sure as hell don't! You're going to fight, and you're going to fucking win, because if you don't, the ones you hold dear will die and you'll lose your people and everything you've ever known. So stop fighting with each other and kick the enemy's ass instead!"

"But how…? We cannot find their location." Japan said, his voice strained.

"What if we captured one of them?" Canada asked, his expression cold. "We can force the information out of them; I'll do it myself."

"Capturing one of them will not be easy." Netherlands said. "Let me plan it."

"Very well." Prussia said, nodding. He glanced sideways at Germany, who hadn't said a word all morning. He had been unlike himself since Italy was captured, and it disappointed him, honestly. Usually, he didn't let his emotions get the better of him, and so Prussia made a mental note to lecture him about that after the meeting; now was the worst of times he could pick to let his emotions get the better of him.

"What will we do after we find out where they're keeping everyone?" France asked.

"Depending on where it is and such, we'll form an attack plan and storm the place." Prussia answered.

"But didn't Oliver say that they couldn't be killed in that airplane letter he sent…?" Spain said uneasily.

"For all we know, that could've been a bluff." Finland stated.

"Tino's right. They may be different from us, but they're still nations." Denmark said. "We may not be able to get rid of them for good right away, but killing them will buy us time, as it takes a while to revive."

Prussia nodded and then sighed. "Well, there isn't much we can do, so if Tim needs help forming a plan to capture one, help him. If he doesn't, stay the out of his way and try not to get yourself captured in the meantime. If any of you fuckers gets hurt or anything, you'll have me to answer to. Meeting commenced, or adjourned, or whatever the goddamn phrase is. This shit is too professional!" He rolled his eyes and sighed again before looking at Germany. "You, come with me."

The German stood and followed him into the hall without protest. When they were a little ways away from the dining hall, Prussia took a deep breath and sighed.

"Ludwig, I know you're upset about Feliciano being taken, but moping around like this isn't going to help him at all; quite the opposite. Stop pouting like a little kid and pull yourself together! You're the freaking awesome personification of Germany and mein kleiner Bruder! Put on your big boy panties and be a man like I taught you!"

Germany looked at him, an eyebrow raised slightly. "'Big boy panties'?"

"Yes." He said seriously, though winced internally at the poor choice of words. "And what would you think Vater would say if he were here to see you being so pathetic? We are Germanic, and we bear that title with pride...unlike that embarrassment of a girl, Austria!"

He sighed. "You're right."

"I know I am. Plus, that Feli is a tough one, from what I've heard. He kicked Sadik's ass once!"

Germany nodded and ran a hand over his face. "I know. I'm going to go discuss with The Netherlands what his plan is. ...thank you, Gilbert."

Prussia grinned and patted Germany's head as he always did when he was little, though he had to reach up to do so instead of merely extending his arm. "Don't thank me; it's what older brothers do!"

Germany nodded, and with that, left. Prussia's smile faded almost instantly and he stared down at the floor, his brow creased in thought. Though he was doing his best not to let it show, he had no idea how they were going to win against their counterparts, and that terrified him.

* * *

Italy whimpered a little as he lifted his head up, his stiff neck sending a sharp ache down his back, where the muscles were just as tense, knotted, and sore. Having been either sat upright or hunched over in his chair for so long had started to take its toll on him, and not being able to stretch out his arms or legs only worsened things. In addition to the muscle pain, his entire body throbbed in unison due to all the wounds Luciano had inflicted on him. It had been hours since he left and the torture had stopped, but it was taking a while for them to heal, as he hadn't been able to rest well and had no food or water to give his body strength.

"Are you awake, fratello?" He whispered into the darkness, his voice wavering a little due to the pain and fear.

"Unfortunately," came Romano's weak reply. He sounded considerably less bitter than he usually did, which worried Italy.

"Are you okay?"

Romano was silent for a long moment, not understanding why he would ask him that. Italy was the one who had been tortured, and he was the one who had been too scared to stop it; he didn't deserve to be asked if he was okay.

"I'm fine. More importantly, are you?"

"It's not more important." Italy protested. "...but everything hurts and I want to go home, Lovino."

"We ca-" He bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something harsh and took a deep breath. He'd already hurt him enough; he didn't need to make him cry in addition to that. "I do, too, Feliciano."

"And I'm hungry...and really, really, thirsty."

"We'll be back home before you know it." He murmured, though he didn't believe it in the slightest.

"Yeah. Maybe they'll let us go if we don't give in…?" He said, sounding wary to consider it, as if doing so would eliminate the possibility of it ever happening.

Romano couldn't reply to that. He couldn't bring himself to encourage his futile hope, nor did he have the heart to dash it. He knew that their counterparts had no intentions of letting them go, and that they couldn't possibly endure torture for the rest of forever. There was no question on whether or not they were going to die in that dirty, cold room; it was only a matter of when.

"Now that has _got_ to be one of the most innocent things I have ever heard." Luciano chuckled and said in a perfect impersonation of Italy, "'Maybe they'll let us go if we don't give in…?'" He laughed again and spoke in his usual authoritative tone. "You stupid, stupid thing. We're never letting you go. Even your coward of a brother knows it."

The room remained pitch black, which only increased Romano's overwhelming unease. Not being able to see where he was was definitely worse than staring into his huge, magenta eyes, even as frightening as they were.

"L-Lovino…." Italy murmured fearfully.

"Why are you calling to him?" Flavio asked. "He can't do anything; that much he already proved when he didn't stop you from getting hurt."

"D-Don't say that! He w-wanted to, but he couldn't!" He protested, sounding distressed.

"Oh, he could have. He very much could have, Feli." Luciano said. His breath was suddenly at Romano's ear, making him shrink back as he whispered, "Isn't that right, Lovino?"

"Get the hell away from me." Romano growled.

"Hmm...no." Luciano said, sounding amused. He then trailed his hand down Romano's left arm, causing shivers of fear to bring up goosebumps on his skin. When he reached his index finger, he gently held it in his fist. "You will either give up, or I will break each of your fingers one by one."

"And you," Flavio said, gently patting Italy's cheek with a soft, gloved hand, "you just remember that you can stop it at any time. All you have to do is resign your title, and your brother won't be hurt anymore."

"Don't you fucking dare do that, Feliciano!" Romano shouted. "I can take whatever this bag of dicks throws at me! No matter what, don't resign your ti-" He was interrupted by his own scream as Luciano's grip on his finger tightened before he yanked it sharply to the side, breaking it. Pain surged through his hand and he let out a guttural groan as he fought not to cry out a second time.

"Stop it! Please, stop it!" Italy begged, tears streaking his cheeks.

Luciano answered by grabbing Romano's middle finger and twisting it out of socket in what felt like more than one place. He let out a loud string of curses and gritted his teeth as he panted for breath. If the lights weren't off, he was sure that he would have trouble seeing properly because of the pain.

"Just a few words, and it's all over, Feliciano." Flavio trilled. "'I, Feliciano Vargas, resign my title as the northern personification of the Italian Republic.' That's all you have to do to keep your brother safe."

Luciano took Romano's ring finger and bent it as quickly and harshly backward as he could, causing it to break and stay bent in a horribly unnatural position, just like the other two. A scream tore through Romano's throat and he hunched over a little, both out of reflex and in reaction to the oncoming feeling of being sick.

For the next hour, the room was filled with the sounds of breaking bones, screams, pleading, sobs, and false promises of relief. Neither of the Italy brothers knew how, but they managed to make it through it. They had no strength to talk about it after it was over, nor any idea what to say, so they sat in the darkness and were silent, each one searching their mind for a sliver of hope or a way to deal with all that was happening. As had been the case with their previous attempts, their efforts proved to be fruitless.


	12. Chapter Twelve

 

Chapter Twelve

  
  


England was jolted out of a deep sleep by a sharp slap across the face, causing him to gasp and jerk his head upright. He opened his eyes and stared into the baby blue eyes he wished he had never seen...or became familiar with. The pain, the words, and the torture; they all returned to him in a burst of horror because of those eyes. Images flashed through his mind, ones of those same eyes twinkling with glee as the sound of bones breaking and the sizzling of burning skin echoed in his ears, ones of mirthful laughter mixed with the ringing of agonized screams, and ones of inexplicable pain and hopeless terror. Oliver had woken England up several times since he captured him, and it never was to simply talk.

“I’m not going to bloody give up.” England said, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper rather than the hateful growl he intended.

“Yes, you are.” Oliver cooed. “We both know you can’t take this forever. Sooner or later, you will give up. Whether it be next week, next month, next year, or a hundred years from now, you  _ will _ give up.” He grinned and gave him an eskimo kiss. “And I’m not going to stop until you do. It will just get worse and worse until you’re so disfigured and scarred, even your precious little darling ex-colony Alfie won’t be able to recognize you.”

England grit his teeth, the comment about America being his ex-colony stinging, despite all the years that had passed. “Alfred has nothing to do with th-this….”

Oliver covered his mouth to stifle a giggle.

“What...?” He asked, unnerved as to why that would make him laugh.

“Oh, that’s a secret.” He giggled and leaned forward so that their noses and foreheads touched. “I’ll tell you after I’ve activated the magnet.”

England cringed and turned his head away, not wanting his face to be anywhere near his. “What the bloody fuck are you talking about?”

“To get the shotgun pellets out of you, of course!” Oliver chimed, and pinched his cheek lightly.

“There are no shotgun pellets in me, you dumb sod. What the-” England trailed off in realization, his eyes widening slightly in horror. He didn’t bother pleading for him not to do what he obviously was going to, as doing so would do nothing but encourage Oliver and damage his own dignity, so he sat in terrified silence as he watched him reach into his pocket and take out a handful of pellets.

Oliver tossed them up into the air and suspended them there with magic before looking at him and grinning widely. He then lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, causing the pellets to move. Half of them embedded themselves into England’s flesh right away, but the others did so very slowly, causing him to writhe and scream in agony as they leisurely burrowed into his skin.

It took several minutes for the pellets to stop moving, and when they finally did, England let out a long groan of pain and went limp against the ropes binding him to the chair. His entire body throbbed, as the pellets had buried themselves everywhere, not just in one place. He gasped for air, trying to get all the oxygen he needed in short breaths, as the deeper the breath was, the more jolts of pain would pulse through his chest.

“And now it’s time for the magnet.” Oliver chortled happily before all of the pellets inside England’s body immediately shot out and stuck to a magnet across the room, all of them covered in blood and some pinning pieces of skin and tissue between them and the magnet.

A loud cry ripped through England’s throat, and that was the last thing he remembered before regaining consciousness to someone humming and stroking his hair. The pain had not subsided at all, which told him that he hadn’t been out long enough to heal even a little. He moaned and opened his eyes, blinking his vision clear to see, to no surprise, that it was Oliver who was humming and playing with his hair.

“Ready to give up yet, poppet?” He murmured.

“Never.” England hissed.

“Very well then.” Oliver stood upright and stopped petting him to take up a mirror and hold it up so he could see it. “Then here is your surprise.”

England stared blankly back at his reflection, unsurprised that he looked absolutely horrible, with dark circles under his eyes, blood and dirt smeared across his face, and bloodshot eyes. For a moment, he wondered in his haze of pain what the reason was for showing him a mirror, but before he could muster the strength to make a remark, the mirror’s surface rippled like water and the image changed from his own face to the huddled form of someone curled up on the ground. It took a moment for England to figure out who it was, but when he did, his eyes widened and horror chilled his sweating skin. It was America.

* * *

 

America had been in alone for hours. Or, at least, if felt like hours. He had woken in a dark, cold room, and hadn’t seen or heard anything. He had simply there sat for a while, horrified, in the pitch black darkness, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he shakily crawled around the room. He found nothing, except that the floor was dirty and there were a few sticky spots here and there. There were no chairs, no bed, or even a piece of trash or anything. It was completely empty. There was nothing on the walls, either; nothing he could reach, anyways.

He eventually crawled to a corner of the room and sat there, his knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around them for comfort. Though, it didn’t provide much. He was still more scared than he’d ever been, so he decided to distract himself by talking.

“This is lame. I mean, it’s probably j-just a stupid prank England is pullin’ on us! Yeah. He’s always been a dick, anyways, and he hates all of us...well, I know he hates me, anyway. I bet this is just a dumbass prank to get back at me for the Revolution!”

“You really think this is all about you?” His own voice replied. “How fucking selfish.”

America immediately tensed up and looked frantically around the room, though he could see nothing in the darkness. It wasn’t the voice in his head, he knew that for sure; that one said just as awful things, but never so loudly. It was Allen.

“This is about the whole world, yours and mine. Not just  _ you _ .”

He curled up tighter and swallowed, trying to keep himself calm.

“The fact that you actually thought that...god, no wonder everyone hates your guts. You’re just as much of a selfish asshole as they all say.”

“I’m n-not a selfish asshole.” America protested.

“Then why does everyone hate you?” Allen asked.

“They d-don’t.”

“They do. I know they do. Oliver has been watching you all for the past several months, and he told me how much you’re abhorred.”

“Of...whored…?”

Allen groaned and there was a faint slapping sound heard, likely from a heavy facepalm. “You’re so stupid, it’s giving me a goddamn headache.”

“Not knowing what you said doesn’t make me stupid….” America protested weakly.

“What about thinking all the world’s problems can be solved by you?”

“I-I’m just trying to h-help….”

“Hasn’t history convinced you enough that whenever you try to help, it only gets people killed?”

“T-that’s not true! Look at World War Two! Without me, it wouldn’t have been won as soon!”

“You dropped two nuclear bombs on civilian cities. It killed around two hundred thousand people. Innocent people.”

“It-it was necessary.” America said quietly, hardly able to speak with the resurfaced overwhelming guilt he felt.

“There are other ways to force a surrender. Are you so stupid that you don’t even know that?”

“It wasn’t l-like it wasn’t provoked! It was the b-best option!”

“No, it was the easiest.” He said firmly. “It was the easiest for you, and that’s why you did it. And to think that you have the impudence to call  _ us _ monsters...look in a history book, Jones. The real monster is you and you know it.”

“...leave.” He whispered. “P-please, just leave.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you really think I’m going to listen to what you say? God, you’re so  naïve, it makes me sick. You’re a piece of shit. Nothing you have done has ever accounted to anything more than death and tears. Your own people would rather live in Canada than where they were born. How does that make you feel? To know that the very people who you are alive to keep happy and protect would rather live somewhere else?”

“Th-they don’t, that’s not t-true.”

“Stop lying to yourself!” Allen shouted, startling him. “You know that’s true. You can feel it. Every time an American wants to leave America or one succeeds in becoming a citizen of another country, your soul stings. You pretend to ignore it, but you can’t, just like you can’t ignore the guilt of all the death petty wars you participated in caused. All the millions of soldiers and civilians killed over the years, for what? All that blood on your hands, just to win an argument? We’re not the monsters here, Jones. It’s you. We’re going to save the people you take for granted, the people you abuse.”

America hugged his legs tighter and tried as hard as he could not to listen as he continued to say terrible things. However, his attempts proved worthless as Allen took each of his insecurities and spat them back in his face. He mercilessly ridiculed him where he was most sensitive, and nurtured the blossoms of his suppressed self hatred. By the time he had finally left, America was a trembling mess, fighting with all his might to keep his tears at bay. He knew he was screwed. There was no way he could fight back against someone who knew all his weaknesses, and there was no way he could face his worst enemy; he could hardly even admit that it was himself.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

For what must’ve been the millionth time, Canada paced from the south end of the hallway before going back to the north. He had tried to stay in one place, but the overwhelming anxiety made it impossible to bare sitting still, much less relax, for longer than a minute. It consumed his sanity, caused his heart to throb far quicker than normal, and quickened his breaths. He had hardly stopped moving since America was taken, and he was about to lose his mind. There was nothing he could do but pace, as they all were merely waiting for one of their counterparts to be caught in one of the traps The Netherlands had set.

Canada ran a hand through his hair and tried to ignore the voice of guilt whispering in his ear, saying terrible things about how he shouldn’t have let Matt knock him unconscious so easily and that it was his fault America was gone. He had been able to combat it at first, but the longer it wouldn’t leave him alone, the less energy he had to fight back. All he could do now was attempt to pretend he couldn’t hear it, when in reality, it was slowly tearing him apart.

“Matthew…?” France said softly.

Canada turned to look at him and somehow managed to muster a smile, though even he knew that it wasn’t at all close to what he was aiming for. “B-bonjour, Papa.”

“...you don’t have to pretend for me, cher fils.” He said, opening his arms to welcome a hug. “My heart aches together with yours.”

He bit his lip and hurried forward, hugging France tightly and burying his face into his shoulder, just as he always had done. He hugged Canada just as tightly, closing his eyes and swallowing a lump of tears in his throat as he comfortingly ran his hand up and down his back.

“It is all going t-to be all right.”

“I know it’s not….” He said quietly. “You don’t have to pretend either, Papa.”

“I am a parent, dear Matthew,” France murmured, “it is my job to pretend everything is going to be all right.”

“I’m all grown up now...y-you don’t have to lie to protect me from the truth.” Canada said.

“I know that.” He let go of him and gently took his face in both of his hands before kissing his forehead. “It’s not just you...I have to lie to myself to cope, otherwise….”

“Otherwise you’ll lose it.” Canada finished for him, knowing all too well how he felt.

France nodded and let his hands fall to his sides. “If I admit how scared I am for all of us and everyone who has been captured, I...I will shatter.”

He nodded and hugged him again, fighting back tears. “I know, Papa.”

Neither of them would’ve broken their silent embrace for a while if they hadn’t been interrupted. The Netherlands walked up to them and tapped France’s shoulder.

“You’re up for patrol duty.”

France looked at him and sighed, reluctantly letting go of Matthew. “Very well. How long is my shift and who’s after me?”

“Four hours, and Greece.” He answered.

France ran a hand over his face and muttered, “Great, so I’ll likely be stuck with Heracles’s shift as well as my own.”

“Probably, ja.” Netherlands said.

He sighed again and looked at Canada. “Hang in there.”

“You, too.”

France smiled weakly and then walked off to begin his patrol. There was silence between the two and Canada was about to walk away before the Netherlands spoke up.

“You look upset.”

“...I am.” He said.

He reached into his pocket and took out a joint before extending it to him.

Canada glanced at it and shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“It will help.”

“I don’t want to be high if anything happens.”

“Nothing will happen.” Netherlands said.

“You can’t exactly be sure of that….”

“They expect us to expect them to attack soon because that’s not expected of them and they’re trying to be unpredictable, so they won’t attack.”

“...no offence, but that doesn’t really make sense.” Canada said, confused.

“It will if you smoke this.” He said, putting the joint between Canada’s lips when he opened them to reply.

He sighed and took it out, trying to hand it back to him. “I don’t really feel up to smoking right now.”

“How about a brownie?” Netherlands asked, not taking it back.

“What? No, thank you. Why do you have them anyways?”

“A joint it is, then. And I don’t, I’m just trying to get you to smoke and calm down. You’re no use to anyone like this, especially not yourself.”

Canada wanted to protest, but he knew he was right. Reluctantly, he stopped trying to shove the joint back into the Netherlands’s pocket and instead put it between his own lips. Netherlands nodded in satisfaction and took out a lighter before lighting it and then doing the same to another for himself.

“Now just sit down and try to relax.” He said, sitting on the floor. Canada joined him, taking a long drag from the joint before letting it out a few seconds later.

“How’s Emma doing?” He asked, wanting to get his mind off of things and not knowing what else to talk about.

“She’s worried about the Italy brothers, and everyone else. But mostly about Lovino.”

Canada nodded and took another drag, tapping his finger against his leg as he anxiously waited for it to take effect. “Are you taking this well?”  
Netherlands shrugged. “As well as possible, I guess.”

“How…?”

He answered by holding up his joint.

“You’ve been high this whole time?”

“Most of it, ja. It doesn’t effect me that much anymore, so I can still function.”

Canada nodded again and let out his next breath of smoke in a sigh. Finally starting to feel it working, he leaned back against the wall and let his tension fade. He and the Netherlands sat in silence and smoked together until their joints were gone, and then continued to sit there. Neither of them said a thing to the other, just staying there in the haze of their high and relaxing in the comfort of not being alone.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

“You aren’t a hero, Jones. You’re a fucking deranged tyrant. You’ve killed countless innocent people over the years. Humans. The ones we countries exist to  _ protect _ , and you’ve killed so many of them, you’ve lost track.” Allen said, staring at him, his gaze unblinking at his scowl unfaltering. “You may have saved a few lives in the process, but so what? Is killing twenty thousand people worth it to save half that much? Newsflash, shithead, it’s fucking not.”

America didn’t react to his words, too numb to even find it in himself to hold back the tears streaking his cheeks. Where his happiness once resided was now a raw, burning agony that never lessened, only grew. With each word Allen spoke, the utterly vile truth of who he was and what he had done was revealed to him. He was absolutely worthless and wrought only suffering, leaving behind pools of tears and blood in the craters of his destruction.

“The only reason the other nations tolerate you as much as they do is because they’re terrified of you. You’ve killed so many of the ones they love, they can’t bear to stand up to you and risk losing more than you’ve already taken. And World War Two? You were a superpower, but you waited so long to enter the war. You could’ve saved so many people, yet you didn’t. Even when London was being bombed, you didn’t help. The heart of Arthur’s country was being blown to bits, and you did absolutely nothing. You know how much that sort of thing hurts a nation; it feels like you’re dying, yet not, because you know it won’t end when you give up. Speaking of Arthur...you’ve hurt him the most. He gave you a home, protection, and anything your greedy heart desired. He raised you from a helpless babe to a strong man with potential for virtue, and what did you do, Alfred? How exactly did you show your gratitude to the man who taught you everything you know?”

America didn’t reply, his body shuddering as he choked on a sob. He knew what he had done, both he and Allen did, and being reminded only worsened his already unbearable pain.

“What did you do?!” Allen shouted, grabbing his hair roughly and making him look at him.

“I-I betrayed h-him.” He whispered.

Allen let go of his hair and squatted down, looking at him, though America hung his head. “That’s right. He sacrificed so much for you, and you spat in his face. He hates you, Alfred. Arthur hates you for what you’ve done to him, and his short temper toward you only proves it. They all loathe you, but Arthur abhors you the most.”

America slumped up against the wall, not caring even a little that the position he was in was painful due to his stiff neck. It didn’t matter if he was in pain, he didn’t deserve to alleviate it. Not after all of it he had caused. He deserved every bit of discomfort and pain inflicted upon him, and worse...he deserved to die. But death, did he even deserve that? Dying would rid him of his pain, of the crippling guilt that made each breath feel like a battle. Dying would mean he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, which he certainly did not deserve. He didn’t want to spend the rest of eternity in agony, but he had lost the right to feel that way, he lost that right many, many years ago.

There was the sound of a door creaking open and then footsteps, but he didn’t bother looking up, not caring enough to see who was entering the room.

“Is he broken yet?”

At first, the voice sounded exactly like England, which caused America to nearly lose it in his haze of guilt and hysteria. His breathing quickened and his muscles tensed up, his self loathing and overwhelming remorse at his actions increasing, stronger than ever before. But as he heard him speak again, his first assumption was disproved; it was Oliver. He curled tighter around himself and dug his fingernails as deep into his skin as his clothing would allow, biting his tongue to both keep his sobbing at bay and increase the pain.

“I think so, yeah.” Allen said, standing and glancing at Oliver. “I mean, look at how fucking pathetic he looks.”

Oliver frowned a little. “Allie poppet, please don’t say that word.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” He snapped.

He sighed patiently and looked sad. “I’m only trying to be nice….” He then turned his gaze to America and walked over, kneeling in front of him and gently stroking his cheek, brushing away his tears with a tender caress. “Poor little poppet...you look so sad.”

America turned his face away from his touch. It hurt too much, having someone show any sort of kindness to him right now. Oliver pulled his hand back and smiled a little.

“You’ve done well, love. The poor little darling is on the verge of doing our job for us.”

“Killing himself?” Allen snorted. “No, he wants to suffer. He knows that he deserves it and is practically begging for it. I can tell by that look in his eyes; the light is gone.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Oliver cooed. “I’m sure he would  _ love _ to see his precious Artie.”

Terror gripped America’s chest and his breathing quickened, wanting so badly to protest and beg for them not to make him see him. He couldn’t bear to think of how England would react to being near him now that he was in such a weak state. Would he hurt him? Would he try to kill him…? Whatever he did, America deserved it, but that didn’t make him any less terrified of being at England’s mercy.

Allen walked over and yanked America to his feet by his hair and shoved him forward, causing him to stumble and fall.

“Allen!” Oliver gasped, hurrying over to help him up. “Don’t be so mean, it isn’t time for that yet! You poor baby….”

America leaned heavily on him as he was helped to his feet, unable to support himself alone. He hadn’t stood, eaten, or drank in days, and that combined with the physical effects of the emotional trauma had left him completely drained of energy and strength.

“Come on, poppet.” Oliver murmured to him as he guided him to the door, then down a long, dirty hallway. The ground, ceiling, and walls were covered in dirt, cobwebs, and rust where there was metal. It had obviously been a long time since this place was used, and a wonder echoed in his mind, thinking of how improbable it was for it to be found. He didn’t care about being rescued, but the others? He wanted them to be safe.

They walked for a few minutes, then stopped at a door. Oliver gently helped America lean on Allen instead, who held him upright with a rough grip, and opened the door. The three of them went inside, and Oliver closed the door behind them.

A soft gasp was heard, and America reluctantly looked up to see who he already knew was there. Sure enough, it was England. He was bound to a chair bolted to the ground by his wrists, torso, and legs, and his evergreen uniform had several slashes and holes in the fabric, each one surrounded by the deep crimson hue of dried blood. His face and hair were both clean, but his eyes were glossy and bloodshot, and his expression was one of utter anguish.

“Alfred….” He whispered.

America looked away, not able to bear seeing him any longer. The expression was the same one he had all those years ago, on that fateful, traitorous day in the rain. Allen let go of him, and without the support, he crumpled to the ground.

England strained against the ropes, the feeling of panic and unease only growing stronger. “Stop this. Oliver, you fucking sod, stop this right now. What the hell have you done to him?”

“Me? I haven’t done anything to the little poppet.” Oliver smiled warmly, patting America’s head. “I haven’t hurt him even a little.”

England’s gaze turned to Allen, his eyes full of fury. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

“I haven’t hurt him either.” Allen said, holding his hands up.

He ignored the answer, not believing it, and looked at America. “Alfred? Alfred, are you all right?”

America didn’t answer, hearing the words, but not fully processing them. A shiver ran through him and he pulled his bomber jacket tightly around himself, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

“Have you figured out what we’re going to do yet, love?” Oliver spoke softly in England’s ear, causing goosebumps to rise up on his flesh and his hands to curl into fists.

“...you’re going to hurt him until I resign my title.” He said through gritted teeth. “It won’t work. I will not give in.”

Oliver chuckled and stood in front of him, leaning down so their faces were close, as he so loved doing. “Oh, you poor thing. You’re going to be heartbroken.” With that, he pecked his lips.

England jerked his head away and opened his mouth to shout at him for doing so, but found that when he tried to speak, no sound came forth. His eyes widened and he looked at Oliver, only to have his fears confirmed when he saw the dark excitement in his pale eyes and the malicious smile on his lips. He wouldn’t have taken his voice if he wanted him to resign his title, which meant that it wasn’t him they were aiming to kill right now. Panic chilled England’s body and he looked at America, struggling violently against his bonds despite knowing he couldn’t break free.

“Don’t worry, Artie.” Oliver said sweetly, drawing a long knife from his pocket. “It’s only your words that were affected. You can still make all the lovely sounds you want.”

Without allowing him a chance to react, he gripped the knife tighter and plunged it into England’s abdomen. A scream ripped through his throat, causing America’s head to shoot upright, his beautiful blue eyes full of terror and guilt.

“You can stop this.” Allen said, squatting next to America and looking at him.

Tears filled America’s eyes as Oliver yanked the knife out of England, causing him to let out a cry of pain, and then plunged it back in. Another shout of agony echoed through the room.

“All you have to do is resign your title; then Oliver will stop.” Allen said, his calmness stark against the chaos of the room and within his mind. “Do you want to keep hurting Arthur? After all you’ve done to him, is it not enough? Do you not have enough blood on your hands?”

Oliver pulled the knife free and stabbed it right back in again, bringing forth a choked groan from England and a sob from America as he watched his face twist grotesquely in misery.

“It’s your fault he’s in pain. It’s your fault for not stopping this, Alfred.” Allen hissed.

Oliver jerked the knife out of him a third time and was about stab it back in when a hoarse, quavering voice quickly spoke up.

“I resign.”

Oliver halted his movements and turned to look at America, his expression gleeful and excited. “What was that, poppet?”

He looked at England, trying with every fractal of strength he had left to convey just how remorseful he felt for all he had done to him with that last, prolonged gaze. England looked back at him, his deep green eyes full of more emotion than he’d ever dared let show, and silently screamed in his heart for him to stop.

“I, Alfred F. Jones, hereby r-resign my title as the United States of A-America.” He whispered, lowering his head and shuddering as he felt something in his soul shift. Instantly, the ever present sixth sense every nation had regarding their country faded and then dispersed altogether. He had felt weak and drained before, but as what made him a country left his body, he felt even more exhausted.

“How absolutely marvelous!” Oliver praised, walking over to America and kneeling in front of him. He held the knife, still streaked with England’s blood, under his chin and forced him to raise his head and look at him. “I’m so proud of you, Alfie.”

“Please...j-just end this.” America begged, the force of a sob nearly making him collapse completely.

“With pleasure, darling poppet.” He said softly before plunging the knife into his heart.

America grunted in pain and fell backward, guided gently to the ground by Oliver as he pulled the knife from his chest. England watched in horror as he closed his eyes and his breathing became more labored.

Moments later, America let out a soft, almost inaudible gasp, and went completely still. England didn’t dare breathe or move a muscle, desperately hoping that it was just a sick prank he was pulling on him, hoping that America would sit bolt upright and grin, laughing loudly at how hard he had fallen for it.  _ Open your bloody eyes, _ he thought,  _ Alfred, please. Open your eyes and be the hero I know you’ve always been. I beg of you, Alfred...please, open your eyes. _ But no such thing happened. Instead, in the split second it took to blink, America’s body had disappeared.

An anguished wail of despair broke free from England’s lips, followed by uncontrollable sobbing and screamed, indistinguishable curses at Allen and Oliver. His heart felt as if it had been stabbed right alongside America’s, and it ached with each beat. He was dead. The nation he had known since birth and cared so fiercely for, even despite all they had been through, was gone.

 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

"I'm sure he's all right." France said comfortingly, resting a hand on Canada's shoulder. The two of them were in the hotel kitchen preparing dinner for everyone, as both of them needed something to do and no one protested them offering to do so. Canada stared down at the sauce he was stirring and was silent for a long moment.

"It's been four days, Papa…." He said quietly.

"That doesn't mean he's been hurt...they could just be holding him captive." France suggested, though they both knew that was highly improbable.

"He's my brother. I know something bad has happened to him, I can feel it."

He looked at Canada sadly and held his free hand. "Everything is going to be okay. Alfred is strong; he'll be just fine."

Canada nodded and held his hand back tightly. "I hope you're right."

France had opened his mouth to reply when Prussia burst into the kitchen, looking a little excited. The two nations jumped slightly in surprise and looked at him, relieved to see that his expression wasn't one of someone bearing bad news.

"We caught one!" He exclaimed.

"Caught wh-" France cut himself off with a gasp. "You caught one of the counterparts?"

Prussia nodded quickly. "The Netherlands's trap worked!"

At hearing that, Canada immediately let go of France's hand, stepped around Prussia, and began making his way to where the trap was, his hands curled into fists and his jaw clenched. Whoever had been captured...may God have mercy on their soul, because he most certainly wouldn't. Prussia jogged up and walked beside him, a little surprised to see the usually so sweet and gentle Canadian with such a fierce look in his eyes.

"Francis decided to stay and finish dinner." He said. "I don't think he wants to see what's going to happen."

Canada didn't reply to that, and there was silence for a few seconds.

"...You were serious about what you said at that meeting; you really are going to to torture whoever it is, aren't you?"

"I am."

"You sure you're ready for that? Torturing someone isn't as easy as it seems. It fucking takes guts, kid."

"I'm not a kid." Canada said firmly. "Those goddamn people took my brother, and I'm going to find out where he is. That's all there is to it."

Prussia didn't argue, uncertain of and unwilling to test what his reaction would be if he did. He seemed quite sure of himself, but he knew from experience that even determination couldn't change who a person was. The ability to put aside your morals and torture someone was something you either had in you or not. It wasn't something you could simply do by using hatred and willpower to ignore what you were doing, and he was rather curious to see which case Canada was.

The two of them soon reached where the Netherlands had set his trap, arriving just in time to see a man with long blond hair being forced into one of the hotel rooms, his hands bound. The Netherlands glanced back at them and nodded for them to follow as he shoved the man inside.

Prussia went immediately, but Canada hesitated. _I'll save you, Alfred._ He thought, hoping that wherever America was, he could hear his words. _I swear to God, I will do whatever it takes to save you from these monsters._ He took a deep breath and looked at the door before walking toward it and going inside.

Of all the faces he had expected to see, never once did it cross his mind that it would be France's. Or rather, Francois's. He was bound to a chair in the middle of the room, and was being bound more securely by the Netherlands. He was quite similar in appearance to the France he knew, but even if his hair and beard weren't unkempt, he would instantly be able to tell the difference between the two. Francois's eyes were darker than they should be, and a thousand times colder. They didn't have that glow of kindness, nor the love that was always there, even when he was angry. But still, he had the face of his beloved papa, and Canada didn't know how he was going to bring himself to hurt him.

"Hello, Matthew." Netherlands said, not looking up from the intricate and secure looking knot he was tying to secure the rope securing Francois's chest to the chair.

"H-hey." Canada croaked in reply, his determination to torture whoever they had captured faltering severely.

"Everything you will need is to your right." Prussia said, his voice devoid of its usual vigor and instead replaced with uncharacteristic seriousness.

Canada looked to his right and his already pale face became whiter when he saw the instruments on the table there. There were knives of various sizes, pliers, matches, acid, a gun, and a few other things he couldn't bear to look at without feeling sick. _Alfred._ He said to himself. _You have to do it for Alfred._

The Netherlands tested the secureness of the ropes and stood, looking at Canada. "The rest is up to you."

He bit his lip and swallowed, hesitantly picking up one of the knives. His hand shook as he walked over to Francois.

"T-tell me where A-Alfred is." Canada stuttered out.

Francois didn't reply, nor reacted to hearing him, which made him grip the knife tighter.

"Tell me w-where your base is or I'm g-going to stab you." He said weakly. Why he wasn't able to act on the fury and terror he felt, he didn't know. He wanted to stab him more than anything, to go through with all the ways he was thinking of harming him, but he couldn't. Hurting a helpless person wasn't something he could easily do, even in this situation.

"Go ahead." Francois said uninterestedly, as if he really didn't care whether he stayed true to his threat or not.

Canada grit his teeth and let out a scream of anger, thrusting the knife toward him. Just before it made contact with his chest, he stopped. The knife fell from his trembling fingers and he stumbled backward a bit, feeling ill and repulsed with himself. _What am I doing…?_ He thought, clutching his head as it throbbed. _I can't torture someone. What am I thinking? Alfred wouldn't want me to do this...this isn't right._

Prussia sighed and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Go lie down in your room. I've got this taken care of."

It sounded more like an order than a suggestion, but even if it had been the latter, Canada would've obeyed without a single protest. He left the room, not saying a word, and slowly made his way down the hall and to the room he was staying in before collapsing onto the nearest bed in a haze of guilt, frustration, and tears.

He had been so determined before...where had that all gone? Was the idea of hurting someone worth more than his love for his brother? He didn't think it was, but if it wasn't, why was he unable to hurt Francois? He didn't know what to think, nor what to do, so he merely laid there and let himself cry.

* * *

England could hardly breathe. _Alfred is dead._ His mind repeated, over and over. _Alfred is dead and there's nothing you can do about it. You were supposed to protect him and you let him die. Did you really need the blood of a nation on your hands when they are already stained permanently red from all the ones before him? Did you really need Alfred's, too? Give up. Join him. It'll be just like it always was if you do. Alfred will adore you as he once did, he will look up to you and revere you as he hasn't done for hundreds of years. Give up, poppet._

England listened to the poisonous words churning melodically in his head, wondering if giving up really was a good idea. Wherever nations went after they died...would America forgive him there? Would things truly be as they were all that time ago? He was genuinely considering it when something shifted and he realized that those thoughts were certainly not his own. Anger bubbled in his chest and he opened his eyes to glare at Oliver, who was sitting cross legged on the floor and staring cheerily at him.

"Get the fuck out of my head." He growled, his voice coming out quieter and more hoarse than intended.

Oliver's smile faded into a frown. "Language, Arthur."

England's reply to that was without a doubt, the most vulgar sentence he had uttered in quite some time. He thought that even his juvenile pirate self would've been slightly shocked at hearing it. As he expected, Oliver's eyes burned furiously and he stood.

"Go ahead." England spat. "Do whatever the bloody fuck you want to me! I don't give a shit anymore!"

Oliver grabbed his forearm and twisted it so the underside faced upward instead of resting against the metal armrest. He then pulled a knife from his pocket and started carving into his skin, with caused England to look away and grit his teeth to force himself not to cry out.

"If you all are just like us, wounds inflicted by other nations take longer to heal than if you were hurt by a human or anything else, yes?" England didn't reply, so Oliver continued, his tone sickly sweet. "Then also, ones that have an emotional meaning behind the injury will scar for quite some time, if not forever."

England didn't pay much attention to his words, focusing mostly on breathing as Oliver finally finished carving into his skin and tossed the knife to his floor.

"Well? Look, poppet!" He said happily. "It turned out so pretty."

England waited a few moments for the pain to dull a bit before looking at his forearm, and when he did, his eyes widened in horror. He didn't know what he had been expecting to be there, but it most certainly wasn't what he saw. The bleeding, red letters spelled out ' **A _L_ F _RE_ D**'. His breath stopped and every muscle in his body constricted, the numb ache in his heart returning full force. He opened his mouth to curse at him, to scream how heartless and cruel the action had been, but all that came forth was a sob. That sob was followed by many more that he found himself unable to stop, so he merely resigned himself to his tears. Oliver soon lost interest in his weeping and went elsewhere, leaving England alone with his grief.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Hungary sat silently at a table in the empty dining room with Belgium, the two of them saying nothing and staring down at their untouched coffees. They had tried to get Ukraine and Liechtenstein to come with them, but Ukraine didn’t want to leave Russia’s side and Switzerland adamantly refused to let Liechtenstein out of his sight, so the two of them went on alone.

“I’m so worried about them…everyone who was captured.” Belgium said quietly.

“I’m sure they’re doing all right.” Hungary reassured her gently. “We nations are made out of stern stuff.”

“I know, but that’s what I’m worried about.” She looked at her, eyes full of worry. “Those...other versions of us want to torture us, and that’s what they’re probably doing to everyone they have right now. Even if none of them give up, they’re going to be traumatized for who knows how long….”

“Let’s not think about that, sweetie.” Hungary sighed softly and stood. “Come on, let’s see how Tim and Gilbert are doing with the one they captured. Perhaps they’ve gotten information out of him.”

Belgium nodded, stood as well, and the two of them made their way toward the hotel room Francois was being held captive in. They didn’t say much on the way, and hesitated a long moment when they reached the door. Just when they were about to enter, a pained cry was heard. A chill went down Hungary’s spine...it sounded like Prussia.

Without a moment of hesitation, Hungary slung her gun off her back and gripped it, lifted her leg, and kicked the door with all her might. To her relief, it busted open without too much resistance, and she rushed inside. 

She didn’t know what she had expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t the Netherlands glaring at Prussia, who had obviously tripped over his own feet and whacked his leg on a piece of furniture. Both the nations glanced over at her, looking confused.

“What did you break the door for?” The Netherlands asked, frowning with a raised eyebrow.

Hungary just stood there, her heart pounding as she tried to calm herself down a little.  _ Everything is okay. He just tripped like the idiot he is. He’s unhurt, he’s still alive. _ She thought, taking quiet, deep breaths.

Belgium sensed her inability to speak just then, and stepped inside as well. “We heard his cry of pain and thought something was wrong. Have you two gotten any information yet?” She asked with a small smile, obviously doing her best to ignore Francois’s bloody, hunched over figure.

“Ja,” Prussia said with a wide grin, getting up off the ground, unsuccessfully playing off the slight stumble as he did so as a cough. “He finally spilled his guts!” He chortled and gestured to the ground.

Hungary glanced over and gulped when she saw that he didn’t mean that phrase figuratively. Those were definitely organs on the ground. She looked away. She may have been used to seeing such gruesome things at one point in her life, but the world had become gruesome in a different way since then, and she’d lost her adaption to the former.

“You found out where their base is?” She asks, sounding a lot more hopeful than she intended.

“I did.” Prussia said proudly, looking at her, his eyes twinkling. “Rally the troops, Schatz. Let’s go kick some ass.”

Hungary felt her heart flutter, and before she could find a reason why she shouldn’t step forward and kiss him like she’s never kissed anyone before, she hurried off to tell the others to prepare to storm the base. That could wait until after the battle. Neither of them could afford to be distracted before it...especially not him. He refused to admit it and hid it as best as he could, but he no longer had the nations’ immortality, which secretly terrified her. She had spent her whole life knowing she’d never have to live without him, and knowing that she would have to someday made her want to hug him tightly and never let go. But her pride never let her, just as it had kept her true feelings hidden behind closed lips for so many years.  _ No more. _ She thought, a soft smile lifting the corners of her lips.  _ I’m going to tell him the second everything’s okay again. I’ll tell him how, even when I was married to Roderich, he was all I could think about. I’ll tell him how much my heart ached for him during and after the second world war, and how I regret not being honest with him sooner. I will finally tell him that I lo- _

Hungary’s thoughts were interrupted by someone shouting her name, and she stopped and looked up to see who it was. France was sprinting toward her, his face white in horror.

“Th-they took Antonio and Toris!” He said, panicked. “Wh-while everyone was asleep!”

Her eyes widened and all love-struck thoughts dispersed from her mind as she grit her teeth in anger. “It’s all right.” She said, starting forward again. “We know where they’re hiding.”

“What?” France asked, his voice shaky.

“Your counterpart gave in.” Hungary said, feeling a slumbering, silent anger awaken within her. “Tell everyone to gather their weapons and meet in the lobby. We leave in an hour. Don’t panic any longer; we’re going to get everyone back today.”

France nodded and stood there in shock for a moment before running back in the direction he came from. Hungary continued ahead, angry and fully prepared to do whatever it took to get back her fellow nations.

* * *

“I want to die.” Italy whispered into the darkness, his voice hardly above a whisper and quivering as if he had been crying. He hadn’t; though, not for lack of trying. He was too dehydrated to shed any tears, and he had found that his pain went beyond what weeping could ever hope to relieve.

For several moments, silence was his only reply, and he wondered if Romano had somehow fallen asleep. Perhaps he had. Or he was too overwhelmed with his own thoughts to register a voice other than the silent one in his head; that had happened to Italy many times since they were brought here like livestock to a slaughterhouse.

“Shut the fuck up.” Romano grumbled. “I have wanted to die for the past two centuries. You’re not special. Don’t be a baby.”

The words hurt, as they always did when he said such harsh things, but they gave him a sense of strength. He had always been able to cope better if he wasn’t the only one suffering, and unbeknownst to Italy, Romano knew that very well, and often pushed aside his own demons to help his brother fight off his. The frightened Italian took several deep breaths, envisioning himself becoming stronger, like Romano, with each one.

“O-okay,” Italy stuttered. “...how are you so brave, fratello?”

“I have to be.” He replied, despite not being at all in the mood to converse. His fingers were healing very slowly from the abuse Luciano had inflicted upon them, and he was still in an immense amount of pain because of it.

“Why....?” Came the next inquiry from Italy.

Romano reminded himself to not lose his patience. It was more crucial than ever that he not get frustrated and snap at him; doing so might push him over the edge, and by what he had just whispered, he was already quite close to stepping over it voluntarily. He let out the breath he was holding and answered.

“I am strong for you. We are two halves of the same country; we depend on one another in a crucial way. We each have aspects the other balances out.” He said, letting himself be poetic, just this once. “Apart, we aren’t as strong as a full nation...but together, we are, if not stronger. When we’re not together, we’re weaker. Like how you’re scared and pathetic, and I keep you in check.” 

“And like how you’re lonely and I keep you company?” Italy asked.

Romano frowned a little. He considered denying it, but he was too curious and didn’t have the energy to do so. “How do you know that?”

For the first time in a while, his lips tugged upward into a slight smile. “Because we’re brothers, remember?”

He snorted softly. “As if I could forget...bastard.” He added after a moment, lest he sound too sappy.

“I want a hug.” Italy murmured after a few moments of silence, which made Romano sigh.

“You know I can’t right now. We’re both tied to these damn chairs and my fucking fingers are all bent and spread apart like the legs of a whore whose rent is due.” He muttered bitterly.

He winced. “Lovi….” He whimpered, having been trying his best to forget that he was hurt.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll shut up...but only if you promise to stop with the wanting to die shit. I won’t put up with that, understood?”

“...understood.” He answered, letting his head hang as a wave of exhaustion rolled over him. Perhaps it was time to try sleeping again; it had been a while, after all.

“Good. Now get some damn rest. God knows what time it is.” Romano said, able to hear in his brother’s voice how exhausted he was.

He mumbled something incoherent as he began to drift off to sleep, and Romano didn’t bother wasting his time to ask what he had said, as he knew the explanation would be no more understandable. He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, wishing it wasn’t so dark and silent. His stomach rumbled and it felt a little like it was trying to eat itself in its hunger, his throat was dry from thirst and raw from screaming, and he felt his heartbeat in each of his fingers; the lack of anything to distract him only making it all harder to ignore. He took another breath and closed his eyes before delving into his thoughts, hoping they would drown out the pain that refused to leave him be.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

“Hurry the fuck up!” Hungary commanded, walking through the lobby of the hotel as her fellow nations prepared for battle, far too slowly for her tastes, barking orders at them to stop being so slow. “What, have a few measly years of peace taken away every bit of common sense you had? You’d better damn not fight like this! Did you forget who they took from us?! We must go and take them back, so get the hell off your damn asses and let’s get the fuck down there!”

Prussia walked over to her, wearing his signature blue outfit adorned with his pristine iron cross, and smirked. “Do you have any idea how hot you are when you order people around?” He crooned rather fondly.

Hungary frowned slightly and looked less than impressed, though her heart fluttered at how he was looking at her. God, had she missed seeing him in that uniform; the color suited him flawlessly. “You had better be ready to go, or so help me, I’ll-”

“I’ve been ready since they took the first one of us.” He interrupted, his tone serious.

She nodded once and didn’t dare point out that he wasn’t part of ‘us’ anymore. She had never once done that, and she didn’t plan to. She loved teasing the Prussian, but bringing up that he wasn’t a country anymore was a subject she never dared touch out of the respect she refused to admit she had for him.

“Good.” Hungary said before turning her gaze to the nations that stood to attention. They were only twenty-two strong, which was discouraging, but the knowledge that their counterparts were around the same number was at least a little consoling. They had won wars with worse odds than this. She surveyed their faces and set her jaw. Germany’s pale blue eyes were even more piercing than usual, narrowed with fury and determination. The terror France had displayed over the past few days seemed far away, replaced by a fierce anger. Spain looked quite the same. Russia did not bear the unnerving smile he usually did, instead wearing a deep frown that was, without a doubt, far more terrifying. Japan and China’s dark eyes were devoid of anything but a firm wrath toward the ones who took their siblings and put the others to sleep. Neither Ukraine nor Belgium looked as sweet and innocent as they normally did, their pretty faces set into harsh, deadly expressions that gave off rather intimidating vibes. Austria, Latvia, and Switzerland all had similar looks of apprehension, but nevertheless, looked prepared. Greece and Turkey stood beside one another, having put aside their differences to fight more important things than one another and bearing an identical expression of seriousness. The Netherlands’s face was as it always was, but he was visibly more tense than usual. Poland, Canada, and Liechtenstein were standing as straight as they could, and had their usually relaxed and happy faces set into uncharacteristically fierce looks that even Hungary felt uneasy to see. And lastly, Denmark, Norway, Finland, and Sweden. The four of them were more determined than ever before, and it sent chills down her spine to see how enraged they looked, Finland especially.

Hungary cleared her throat and took a slow, deep breath. “Let’s go.” She said in a commanding voice before turning and leading the way out of the hotel. Her fellow nations followed, fully prepared to attack the ones who had taken their own and seething with a fury only quenchable by their bloodshed.

 

* * *

England had been absolutely certain when he had first been captured by Oliver that he would never stop fighting. He was so sure that every waking moment, he would spend trying to break the magic suppression spell he was keeping on him. But everything Oliver had done was the opposite of what he anticipated. He had expected him to rarely rouse him from the sleep he was catching up on from the spell, but Oliver had removed the effects of it completely and passed it onto someone else. That had left him able to dream, and those dreams had been only the worst of nightmares. He had expected Oliver to have tortured America in front of him until he gave up...but he hadn’t. He had done so, so much worse, and England couldn’t take any more.

He drew in a breath, his throat raw, dry, and aching. It was painful even to breathe. His head throbbed from dehydration and a dozen other things, and his limbs were heavy and riddled with various wounds that his body couldn’t keep up with healing. He was so exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. He could hardly find the strength to make himself breathe, much less to make himself relax. He was drained. Completely and utterly drained, and he had given up.

“Oliver.” He croaked out, his voice unrecognisably hoarse. His eyes were open, but so blurred and unfocused that he barely saw Oliver materialize in front of him.

“‘Ello, poppet.” He cooed, his voice as chillingly calm as always. “What is it?”

“I resign.” England replied. His voice was weak, but he was sure of his words. “My status as the Kingdom of England is yours. I relinquish it.”

“Mmm, that’s nice.” Oliver cooed, twirling a lock of England’s hair around his finger.

“You can kill me.” He said, numb to the part of him that screamed for him to stop.

“Oh, but why would I do that now?” He giggled and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at him. His eyes cleared, likely because of a spell of Oliver’s.

“That is what you have been aiming for the whole time.” He answered, staring emptily into those pale blue eyes.

“Is it? Oh, poppet, that is only part of what I want. Do you know what the first thing I want is?” He chirped, his mouth spreading into a grin.

England’s mind wandered a bit, wondering, far less concernedly than he should have, what it was.

“I want to see you writhe.” He hummed. “I want to watch as your world  _ screams _ around you. I want to see you lose every last shred of hope that remains in that pretty little mind of yours. I want to hear you beg for death. I want to hear your bones snap over and over and  _ over _ . I want you to watch every nation you ever knew disappear before your eyes, just like Alfie did. I crave to see the look in those precious eyes of yours as you realize everyone you ever knew is dead.”

England barely reacted to his words, unable to muster the energy to care. “What’s stopping you?” He murmured.

“Oh, nothing at all, love.” He assured him, as if the words were a comfort. “I’m just waiting for a very special guest. He’s on his way now, in fact, so it won’t be too long.”

He didn’t bother replying. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe, too, but he couldn’t keep himself from doing it. It was as if he had little to no control over himself, and that only made his pain worse. Whatever Oliver had planned, he prayed it meant he could die soon.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

England had been alone for hours. Oliver had left soon after taunting him and since then, he’d been still and silent. There was no sound in the room other than his shuddering breaths and occasional whimpers of pain. His body was having a hard time healing all his wounds due to lack of sleep and nutrition, which left him in a constant state of pain and exhaustion. The majority of his muscles had a throbbing ache in them from being bound to the chair for so long without being able to stretch or move, and his head pounded from both hunger and dehydration. He felt empty. Empty from his body, his soul swaying violently between emotional and physical pain. There was only one thing of which he was absolutely sure of anymore; he couldn’t survive like this for much longer.

The all too familiar scraping of metal shrieked through the room and echoed, bouncing off the rusted walls. England barely flinched when he heard it; he didn’t care of Oliver was back.

“Angleterre…?” He hadn’t heard the voice in so long, it didn’t quite register in his brain.

Hurried footsteps approached England, and a gentle hand rested hesitantly on his arm. The hand was so warm and the tender touch so welcome, it felt like coming home.

“Mon Dieu, mon cher Arthur.” France sounded more broken than England had ever heard him. “What have they done to you…?”

England struggled to raise his head and met France’s eyes with a dull, defeated gaze. His eyes were as blue as ever, and full of grief he’d never seen in such magnitude before. Tears streaked his dirty cheeks and his hair was anything but kempt. He pulled a knife from his belt with shaking hands and carefully cut the ropes binding him, fighting back a sob when he saw how deeply the ropes had dug into his skin. England barely noticed the pain of having the ropes peeled off his wrists and ankles; at this point, a little more pain didn’t matter.

“Arthur….” France murmured, staring at the letters carved into his arm. “Arthur, why is Alfred’s name...why is his name….”

England didn’t answer, barely able to stay conscious, let alone explain the trauma he had been put through. France lifted him gently from the chair, not pressing him further to speak. Was this real? England wasn’t fully certain, and though he knew there was a possibility it was a trick or a hallucination, he let himself come as close to relaxing as he could in that state.

“We managed to take over the base. We have the counterparts tied up and are taking turns killing them until we find out what to do.” France explained, walking them out of the room England thought he was going to die in. Before he could say another word, England snapped back to reality, a burst of strength flooding his body. His magic was back; the spell Oliver cast on him to suppress it was gone.

“Oliver. Where is Oliver?” He asked, his voice was hoarse and barely sounded like himself.

France looked down at him, startled by him speaking so suddenly. “He’s-”

“Take me to him right now.” England said urgently as he squirmed a bit, as if he could stand, much less walk there himself. “Where is he?”

“Arthur, calm down, you’ll hurt yourself more.” France said, adjusting his grip on the nation as he settled a bit. He increased his pace, able to tell it was important. “We’re going there now.”

England was on edge as France hurried to where Oliver was, forgetting his pain and everything else along with it as the desperate thought of seizing the chance engulfed his mind. He had the upper hand over Oliver now, which meant he could use his magic to send them back to their world and maybe even mend the weak point in the barrier separating them. He could end this hell.

* * *

Canada watched as the captured nations reunited with each other in a large room in the underground bunker, keeping a sharp eye out for America. He still had that awful feeling in his chest, but seeing everyone reunite was a happy distraction, for the most part; the ones who had been captured were all injured and covered in dried blood. China and Japan hugged their siblings, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and South Korea, close and spoke to each other in a combination of their languages, making it very hard to follow what they were saying to one another.

The Nordics had found Iceland and surrounded the nation, fussing over him. Finland was crying and hugging him, and it was then Canada noticed that Iceland’s eyes weren’t the pale violet they normally were, but clouded over. Whatever the counterparts had done to him, it had left him blind. Italy and Romano were nearby, looking more beaten up than any of the other nations. Romano’s hands were black and blue, his fingers bent and twisted in sickening directions. Both of the Italian nations looked shellshocked, and Canada’s heart went out to them, especially Romano; he was more on edge than he’d ever seen him.

Ukraine and Russia were hugging Belarus, looking both incredibly worried and beyond relieved. Belarus’s long blonde hair was completely gone, her head bald and her scalp covered in burns. Cuba and Canada met eyes and they nodded briefly, both relieved to know the other was okay. Cuba could tell Canada wasn’t in the mood to talk, so he left him be and instead thanked Belgium as she tended to his injuries.

Canada kept looking around, the horrible feeling in his chest worsening as he spotted Lithuania sobbing against Poland’s chest and heard him say that Estonia had been killed. He knew it was possible for nations to die, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was possible for them to be killed. Now that he knew it was, he had nothing solid left to help him have hope that America was alive. He looked around again frantically, panicking. America wasn’t there. The possibility of him being with England was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. France had gone to get England, so he just had to wait for them to get back, right? Then he’d know for sure.  _ Please be okay. _ He thought, clenching his teeth to keep from falling apart.  _ Please, Alfred, be alive. _

* * *

It didn’t take long for France and England to get to where they were keeping their counterparts, and stepped in the room just as Hungary blew off Luciano’s head with a shotgun before he could fully heal and wake up from the previous time of her doing that. Greece, Turkey, and the Netherlands were doing the same thing, making sure all of the counterparts stayed dead. They looked up as the two of them entered, Hungary walking over immediately.

“England, can you send them back?” She asked, cutting straight to the chase. It wasn’t the time to coddle him, it was the time to get done what needed done.

England nodded, grunting in pain as France put him down, right next to Oliver’s comatose body. He sank to the floor with France’s help, taking a brief moment to catch his breath. Immobilizing his magic would be the easiest way to send them all back, as Oliver’s magic was keeping them there, so that’s exactly what he decided to do. Though he was terrified to touch Oliver, he did so anyways, putting a hand on his arm. As quickly as he could, he cast the spell and watched as all of the parallel nations disappeared. He wanted to collapse and let himself fall unconscious, but he needed to seize this chance to seal the barrier. Using every bit of strength and magic he had, he managed to send half of the spell along with them to activate on their side. To his relief, it worked flawlessly. For such a horrible experience it had been for everyone, it almost seemed mocking, how easily it had been fixed.

England passed out seconds later and France lifted him off the ground again, holding him securely in his arms.

“It’s over.” France mumbled, glancing at Hungary, Greece, Turkey, and the Netherlands. “We should get out of here.”

“I’ll make sure everyone is accounted for.” Hungary said, starting off, pausing when France spoke.

“You won’t find Alfred.” He said, his heart breaking to say it aloud. He’d put the pieces together from his name on England’s arm and how he hadn’t answered France when he asked; if America was in danger, he would have said. 

Hungary’s expression shifted ever so slightly, but she pushed the sadness away for now. “All right.” She hurried off, leaving the five of them to themselves.

France looked down at England, his throat feeling tight. “I’m heading back, he needs tended to.”

“Go, we’re right behind you.” The Netherlands said, gathering the weapons they’d brought.

France nodded and left, tears streaking his face as he walked back to where the nations were gathered. The danger may be gone, but all it had left in its wake was devastating, and he didn’t think he could take any more pain. All of the nations had been through hell and back, and even the ones who hadn’t knew they would someday. But that was something they were built for. Wars and battles? They were made to survive them, to endure no matter what. But this? To be hunted and teased like prey? None of them had experienced that, and they weren’t made to. They were made to fight for their people, not for their own lives. They lived whether they wanted to or not, because their life was not their own, but the moment Oliver froze the world and began to taunt them, all that had changed. It was a terrifying experience and France prayed he would never have to one akin to it again. For the first time in his life, he had felt truly vulnerable.

He walked at a slow pace, not having the energy to rush. He turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was down that corridor; Germany was kneeling over a body, silent sobs shuddering through him as his hands cradled a head full of snow white hair. He saw a deep blue uniform darkened with blood, an already pale face devoid of all color, and a once gleeful expression turned vacant. In his time, France had seen too many dead bodies to count, but none had jarred him to the core like this. He knew humans died, but nations dispersed, so he never thought he’d have to actually see any of them dead. Least of all, Prussia.

* * *

Heads turned as Hungary entered the room, all of them eager to know what happened. The talking turned into silence without prompting and she took a deep breath, letting it out as a quiet, shivering sigh. God, this was going to be hard.

“England was able to send them back to their universe.” She started off with something to lift their spirits, as they all desperately needed it. A collective sigh of relief sounded through the room and for a moment, everyone relaxed. “They have killed Estonia and America...and to those of you who weren’t there, Prussia was killed during the fight.”

There was absolute silence for several moments, until Canada collapsed on the ground in a hysterical heap of sobs. Ukraine, who was acting as a nurse alongside Belgium, rushed over to pull him into a tight hug. Canada accepted and returned the embrace, crying into her shoulder and murmuring heartbrokenly in French. No one could understand him because he was crying too hard, but Ukraine just held him and tried to offer whatever comfort she could. She sympathized with his pain; she had thought Belarus was dead, and that pain had grieved her worse than anything she’d ever felt.

A few other nations cried, but the majority of them couldn’t process the news as fast. There was too much to take in, resulting in a numb state of shock. Hungary walked over to Austria and hugged him tightly, her pride be damned; she needed to be held and to hide her tears. Austria wrapped his arms around her, swallowing the lump in his throat. He hated Prussia through most of his time on Earth, though somehow, he found himself quite upset to hear of his death. He knew it was coming, but he hadn’t thought it would arrive quite so suddenly.

Other than Canada’s sobs, the room was silent. Now wasn’t the time to talk, but rather the time to hold one another and let themselves ache.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

When England woke, he noticed three things right away. The first was that he was in a bed. The second was that the pain he had been in for so long had dulled to a steady throb instead of a surging agony. The third was that he was desperately thirsty. He opened his eyes and eased into an upright position, a groan escaping his chapped lips.

“Hello?”

France, who had fallen asleep sitting at his bedside, shot up, wide eyed. He looked at England and his moment of panic faded.

“Mon cher Angleterre, you’re awake!” He exclaimed softly, a smile gracing his tired face. “How are you feeling?”

“Water, please.” He croaked, his voice hardly sounding like his own with how hoarse it was.

France immediately got him a water bottle, opening it before helping the Englishman hold it up to his lips so he could drink. He downed the majority of it, gasping for breath and wiping his mouth when he broke away for air.

“Bloody hell….” England murmured, quickly drinking the rest. He hadn’t had water in what felt like weeks. Perhaps it had been weeks; time was frozen, so there was no real way of knowing.

“Better?” France smoothed down England’s hair, which had been washed since the ordeal with their counterparts.

He nodded and laid back down. He brought a hand up to wipe his mouth again, faltering slightly when he saw the bandages. His wounds weren’t healed yet, then. He glanced at his right forearm, biting the inside of his cheek when he saw the pristine bandage wrapped around it. It was more what lay underneath it than the dressing itself that made him want to cry again.

“What happened?”  France asked hesitantly. He and all the other nations had been waiting to ask England the same thing, all of them wanting to know what had happened to their fellow nation, America. “If you cannot answer now, don’t force yourself to. I understand not being able to speak about it.”

England was silent for a long moment, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t want to have to relive this multiple times. I will speak of it once and then never again.”

France took one of his hands in his own, nodding. “I won’t make you, and neither will anyone else.”

England nodded once, finding himself squeezing France’s hand instead of pushing it away as he usually did. He cleared his throat and began to speak. “As you likely have seen, a lot of what...Oliver did to me was physical torture. A little bit of mental taunting, but the majority of it was just for fun, just to hear me scream.”

France’s hand held his tighter and he bit his lip, trying not to cry as he listened to what he said.

“It was some sort of game to him. All of it was just for fun, for entertainment. A while after they brought me there, they...they brought Al...they brought America in. He looked like I’d never seen him before. Utterly drained and beyond miserable...I can’t bear to imagine what Allen said to him to get him like that, what horrible lies he must have made that poor lad believe.” England paused a moment, needing to compose himself. “I thought they were going to torture him until I resigned my title, but they did the opposite. Oliver stabbed me three times before America resigned his title. Seconds later, he dispersed; impaled in the heart. I tried to tell him not to give in, that whatever they had told him was a lie. I-I tried, but he took my-my voice and….” He began to cry and France sat on the edge of the bed, pulling him close in a soothing embrace.

“Hush, my dear Arthur. You did all you could.” He whispered, holding him as he cried.

The two of them remained like that for quite some time, until England had stopped crying and France had let him lay back down.

“You don’t ever have to speak of it again. Never.” He murmured, staying on the edge of his bed and stroking his hair slowly. “Do you want to know what happened here?”

England nodded, welcoming the change of subjects.

“We weren’t able to do anything for a while, not until we managed to catch one of the counterparts; Francois, to be specific. When we did, Tim and...Gilbert took care of getting information out of him. He told them where the bunker was and so we gathered the nations we had left and prepared to attack. We caught them by surprise, so we managed to gain the upper hand. It was all luck, if you ask me. We shouldn’t have won. We found out where they had been keeping you and the rest of the ones they captured and got you out of there. That’s when you drove the counterparts away. After you lost consciousness, I carried you back to where we all had agreed to meet and on the way, found Ludwig crying over Gilbert’s body. He had been killed in the fight and you know of his nation status….” A brief, mirthless smile crossed France’s face as he desperately tried to hold back his tears. “He never did like to admit when he was hurt; I should have known that his physical state was far worse than he lead us to believe.”

England squeezed France’s hand again, offering what little comfort he could give him. France appreciated it nonetheless and found the strength to continue.

“Estonia was killed while the parallel nations had him as well. Lithuania can’t bear to tell us the details, which might be better for us all. After we found everyone, we brought you all back to the hotel we’ve been staying at and tended to the ones of you who were taken. In the end, they had taken you, America, Cuba, Taiwan, Hong Kong, South Korea, the Italy brothers, Lithuania, Estonia, Iceland, and Belarus. None of you were in good shape, but you all seem to be healing all right. We suspect the wounds will scar. They were inflicted by other nations, after all.” France sounded heartbroken to say it, but he wouldn’t lie to him. “Time is still frozen, or whatever spell Oliver had cast. The humans still are asleep and besides the sunrise and sunset, the world seems to have frozen.”

England looked at him. It made sense for Oliver to have done so, but this was news to him. “He put everything asleep?”

“Except for roughly thirty-five of us nations, yes. I think they wanted to take things one step at a time. Can you lift the spell?” France asked, a bit worried he couldn’t.

“Easily. But it would be best to let us heal fully first. All of us need time to recover.” England said, closing his eyes. He’d just woken, but god, was he tired.

“Thank god.” France sighed in relief, then noticed he was practically falling asleep. “Do you want me to let you rest?”

England nodded, but didn’t let go of his hand. France got the subtle hint and laid down beside him, holding him close. Their troubles were briefly forgotten as they drifted off to sleep together, needing the embrace of the other far more than they needed to retain their pride.

* * *

The memorial was held on a clear, sunny day, in a clear field near the hotel. Every nation that wasn’t still asleep from the spell was there, respectfully donned in full uniform. It was a foreign thing, holding a memorial for three deceased countries, let alone one, but they did their best anyways. There were no flowers or photographs, just chairs and a podium for those who wanted to speak. Three flags were flying on poles behind the podium, one Estonian, one American, and one Prussian flag. Everyone sat in silence, save for France, who had taken charge of the memorial and volunteered to run it.

France stood at the podium and spoke into the microphone. It had taken a lot to set it up, and he was relieved when his voice rang clear through the speakers. “As you all know, we’ve gathered today to remember and pay tribute to those we lost. For those of you who wish to speak, there will be a chance for that soon. First, please stand as we play the national anthems of the deceased in homage to them.”

Everyone stood and a few seconds later, the Estonian anthem began. Finland began to cry and the two remaining Baltics fought back tears of their own. As for the others, their heads were either lowered in respect or gazing at the sky in memory of him. When it ended, there was a long moment of silence before the American anthem began. There was more crying than there was with Estonia, most of it from Canada. France’s heart went out to the poor boy and he made a mental note to hug him after. He and America both felt like sons to him, but Canada had always had a special place in his heart.

After it ended, there was another long moment of silence, followed by the Prussian anthem. It was a song none of them had heard since before 1947, and it almost brought France to tears. He forced himself to hold strong and glanced at Germany, hoping he was all right. He hadn’t said much at all since Prussia died, and it was growing worrisome. Getting back into his normal routine would do him good, or so Austria had assured him. Germany would recover in time, and work would help give him purpose and serve to distract him.

As the last anthem ended, everyone sat back down and France stepped up to the podium again after swallowing the lump in his throat. “If there’s anything any of you want to say, feel free to step up and say so.”

Only two nations stood, Hungary and Finland. Finland wiped his face and thanked France as he stepped aside and let him speak.

“Eduard was one of my best friends. He wasn’t a very prevalent nation, but he was a good one. He was kind and always knew what the best thing to do was, even in difficult situations. I know not a lot of you knew him well, but that doesn’t make his death mean any less. We lost a great man, and I want that to be recognized.” Finland took a brief moment to compose himself, getting choked up. “As for Alfred, he was one of the few nations I’ve met who has nearly always meant well in everything he did. Since the day Berwald and I found him, I knew he would be a great country, and I’m honored to have been at least a tiny part of his upbringing. He was a good nation, despite his flaws, and I know every one of us will miss him in one way or another.”

Finland went back to where he had been sitting, wiping his tears and hugging Sweden close. Hungary took his place at the podium, her expression firm. She didn’t want to give Prussia the satisfaction of her crying at his memorial, if he was watching from wherever he had gone.

“Gilbert was an asshole.” She began, almost hearing the Prussian’s laugh echo in her ears. “He made fun of everyone he could whenever he could and refused to admit any sort of weakness. He was a pain in the ass as often as possible and at several points in his life, I was quite motivated to strangle him to death. That being said, life isn’t going to be the same without him. He was my best friend, and despite how much of a dick he could be, I’m going to miss him and you’re fooling yourselves if you think you won’t as well.”

Hungary walked away, leaving her small speech at that. There was a lot she didn’t say, but she didn’t want to publicly declare how deeply she had cared for him, or how heartbroken she was that she didn’t let herself confess how she truly felt to him while he was still alive.

France was barely holding back tears as he stepped back up to the podium. “There’s food in the hotel dining room, but all you know that already, you helped make it.” He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know what else to say or address here. We will discuss the technicalities of what the deaths of Estonia and America mean another time, so please proceed to the dining room.”

The nations stood and started making their way back to the hotel and France joined them. He could worry about dealing with the chairs and everything else they’d brought there for the memorial later, now wasn’t the time. He spotted England and walked beside him in silence, their hands entwined. None of them spoke, letting the solemn moment be as it was in a final tribute to the ones they lost.

* * *

The meal afterward was a bit more light hearted than anticipated, thanks to alcohol and the retelling of amusing stories. Even Germany smiled as Hungary told everyone about the time she had a drunk Prussia entirely convinced that cheese was a figment of his imagination. The stories went on for hours, and England and France watched from the side as they turned into good natured fun, preferring to observe instead of participate in this case.

It was nice to see that some amount of normalcy had returned, even if for a little while. Italy was glued to Germany’s hip, and Romano, though hiding his now constantly gloved hands in his pockets, was threatening to beat the shit out of Spain if he kept babying him. Finland was taking care of the rest of the Nordics like the mother everyone always joked he was, and Russia had roped the two remaining Baltics into a drinking game consisting of him, Poland, Greece, Turkey, Canada, Cuba, and The Netherlands. Austria and Switzerland were talking quietly, in a small argument by the looks of it. The Asian countries had started playing a game together, and the girls had gathered to continue to reminisce and comfort one another.

France looked at England, wishing he could ease the pain that so clearly showed on his face. Whatever he was thinking about, he figured it best to distract him from it.

“What are we going to do about the citizens of America and Estonia? We can’t let them fend for themselves and we can’t split up the land without rousing questions.” France said, having been thinking a lot on that topic.

England glanced at him and sighed. “I haven’t the foggiest, this isn’t something we’ve encountered before. Hell, it isn’t something that ever should have been able to happen, a nation dying while his people still thrived. It was only because the parallel nations were here to take our place if we resigned that we were able to die. Ideally, I would like to figure that out what to do before I wake everyone, but don’t you think the presidents should have a say? It’s their right more than ours to decide.”

“I agree.” France said, rubbing his temples a little as a bottle shattered, thrown by a drunken Turkey. “Could we possibly go elsewhere? This noise is giving me a headache.”

“Please.” England groaned, standing. He faltered a bit, his wounds not fully healed yet. He could walk fine, but it ached deep in his flesh.

Sparing his dignity, France didn’t help him more than steadying him by standing closer to him as they walked outside to get some fresh air. The sun was setting and it was cool outside, making for quite a pleasant ambiance. They sat where they could watch the sunset and France struck up another conversation.

“When do you think you will wake everyone?”

“A week or two more, perhaps three.” England glanced at him for affirmation; it wasn’t just his own people that were asleep, after all.

“That’s a good idea.” France nodded, then stayed silent for a moment. “It’s going to take decades to recover from this, isn’t it?”

“If we’re lucky,” he replied quietly. “I get the feeling we never truly will, much like the wars.”

“You’re probably right.” He squeezed his hand, looking down at the grass at their feet.

“I often wish I wasn’t.” England loved winning arguments and the like, but being proved right in situations like this? That was something he would never take any sort of pleasure in.

France had opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, he was interrupted.

“Hey, do either of you know how I can get home? This is Europe and I kind of need to be on the other side of the pond.”

England’s heart stopped and his head shot up, looking at the man who had spoken. For a split second, he thought that somehow, his dreams had come true, that he had come back from the dead with the departure of his counterpart. For half of a second, that terrible ache in his chest was gone. Then he realized there was no recognition whatsoever in his eyes; he was a blank slate.

“America...?” France said, letting go of his hand and standing.

“Uh, yep. Who’re you?” He said, raising a brow as he spoke.

_ Is there no end to the cruelness of the world? _ England thought, his heart aching. This was America, technically, but not the one they all knew. He looked and sounded the same, but he had none of the memories the other one did. He was merely a hollow duplicate of the original. He was the same size as America had been when he died, yet he somehow looked so young. The white gown he was wearing didn’t serve to make him look any older.

France’s heart broke at hearing him ask that, though he had known that it wasn’t possible for him to already know the answer, it wasn’t possible to have the old America back. “Francis Bonnefoy, the French Republic.”

“Huh. Nice to meet you!” America grinned and extended a hand and glancing at England after he shook it. “And you’re...yeah I can’t guess. You’re white, there’s too many possibilities.”

“England.” He answered, surprised he hadn’t broken down. “Arthur Kirkland.”

America blinked, a flicker of something akin to recollection flashing across his face. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Nice to meet you, too! Either of you know how I can get home?”

France glanced at England, silently asking if he wanted to be left alone or to remain with them. England ever so slightly shook his head. He didn’t want to have to hear America’s voice right then, he needed to process what had just happened. France, bless the man, understood him and took America’s arm, leading him away.

“Come with me, hm? I have got a lot to explain to you and I promise to answer all your questions.”

England didn’t hear America’s reply, staring in a slight daze at the back of the nation’s head as he walked away with France. In hindsight, he realized he should have known that America would pop up again; whatever force put the nations on Earth wouldn’t let a fully developed country be without a leader. Estonia must be around there somewhere as well, just as confused and wearing an identical white gown to America’s; all the nations were born into the world with one.

Tears streaked England’s face and he wiped them away, willing himself to be strong. He had indulged himself in weakness far too much lately, and it had become a habit. He took a deep breath and set his jaw. He needed to be strong, especially since America had been reborn. There was so much he didn’t know, so many lessons he had to re-teach him. Perhaps it would go similarly to how it did all those years ago and end in a revolution, but only if England made the same mistakes. He hadn’t wanted to let go of him, to admit that he had grown up. But things were different now, and England had learned the importance of letting America do as he may. It wasn’t easy to step back and watch him make mistakes that he knew how to prevent, but he knew from experience that it would be easier on the boy than forcing him to do as he said.

England took another deep breath and turned his gaze to the sunset, letting himself find solace in knowing he had a second chance. It wouldn’t be the same as it was before, he knew that, but perhaps it would be all right regardless of that. It was going to be hard, likely one of the hardest things he’d ever have to do, but in his many years of life, he’d learned that the hardest things to do were often the most worthwhile. Having a second chance to help bring up America the proper way didn’t atone for all he had endured in the past few weeks, but it was a small comfort. He’d been given a rare opportunity to redo what he had done wrong, and he was going to do all he could to not let it go to waste.


End file.
